Red Jungle
by Nye.317
Summary: It's the Spring of 1972: the air is getting warmer, the flowers are blooming, and young men are being shipped off to serve in the Vietnam War. When Christian is called to serve, he spends his last night in the U.S. with a familiar brown-haired girl. He doesn't think much of it, until he returns home and realizes he has a son.
1. Chapter 1

Today was the day for living, for tomorrow he would die.

The strong liquor burned his throat as it traveled down his esophagus. He relished the feeling. With each sip from his glass, his mind wandered further and further away from the events that waited for him the next day. He couldn't think, wouldn't think, of the inevitable death that stood before him. He would drink instead. Maybe, if he was lucky, he'd succumb to alcohol poisoning instead of having his torso blown off in the middle of a Vietnamese jungle.

Christian had been drafted.

February 2, 1972 was the fateful day the U.S. government decided to fuck over all of its young men, once again. Not even a year after Christian turned 20. For three months, three whole months, Christian sat with the knowledge that his life had been legally terminated - and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it. He had no money, no education, no family, no connection to any big shots who could pull some strings. He was the perfect candidate. He half thought to pretend to be retarded. Surely a poor sap like that wouldn't be fit to serve in the war - but he had too much pride to go through with it.

His draft number was 27, which give him a bit more time than the poor bastards who were 1. For three months he deluded himself into thinking that by the time he was actually shipped out, the war would be over, or they would fulfill their quota of how many soldiers they needed; but who was he kidding? Hundreds of young men were dropping like flies each day. There would never be enough. They would always need more.

Two weeks after the draft lottery, Christian received his card in the mail. _They got to 27 that fast?_ He thought to himself. He was given ten days to report to his local draft board, which of course he waited until the last minute. For a week and a half, he contemplated running away, but he had no money and no passport. He was stuck. Once he met with the board, they deemed him fit for induction, to which he had no probable reason to object. After his induction, the next day he was sent off to basic training for nine weeks. From there, he was sent back home for thirty days before he was deployed.

He wondered why they even bothered sending him home. There was no one there waiting for him, or mourning his imminent death. He was broke and alone - maybe they did him a favor by drafting him. He took a final gulp of his liquor, before sliding off the bar stool and stumbling towards the door.

"You gonna pay for these?" The bartender grunted, his face scrunched up in irritation. A bead of sweat pooled on the corner of his mouth before it was lost inside of his grey beard.

Christian turned around, a crooked, sarcastic smile spread across his face. "I'm being sent off to 'Nam tomorrow," he called back.

The bartender pursed his lips, a small glint of remorse in his eyes. He shook his head, replacing his fleeting expression of emotion with annoyance. "Just… Get outta here, kid."

Christian stumbled out of the door, the crisp night air biting at his skin. He welcomed the feeling, as it reminded him that he was alive. He slunk to the ground, feeling the concrete underneath his skin, the smell of leather and alcohol lingering in the air. He took a deep breath, trying to log the smell of a drunken night in Seattle into his memory.

"There won't be concrete where I'm going," he mumbled to himself, his face against the ground.

The wind blowed against his skin, biting at every inch of his face. He thought of what death would be like, or what happens after death to be more specific. Was it just a pool of nothingness? Heaven? Hell? He couldn't think of which option was worse. A small, fleeting thought crossed his mind: what if he didn't die? Instead of being killed, he'd become a killer; and he felt that was an infinitely worse punishment. He breathed slow and deep, his mind whirling with sounds of explosions and the smell of gunpowder.

"Sir… Do you need help?" A meek voice called out. A pale, brown-haired girl looked down at him, her eyes filled with concern. A pair of thick, round tortoiseshell glasses adorned her face, making her look nerdier than she already did. Christian thought it was cute; she looked like a librarian - or maybe it was the alcohol making him think so.

"Any help I've ever needed would've only been useful three months ago," he grumbled, pressing his forehead deeper into the cool concrete.

The girl slunk into a kneeling position, slowly and carefully. She angled her body closer towards him, "Do you know where you are? Is there someone who is supposed to be looking after you?" She asked, worried. To Christian, however, it sounded patronising.

"I'm drunk, not a simpleton," he barked, turning away from her. He stood up quickly, causing his head to swim and his body to stumble. He tried to grab onto something, but only grasped air. He fell back onto the ground, scraping his elbow in the process.

"Are you okay?" She asked, rushing to his side. A small prick of blood emerged from Christian's elbow, the small, dull pain barely phasing him.

"Yeah," he grunted, shrugging her off.

"Do you need to call someone? You can't drive like this," she remarked.

"Yeah… I guess. Don't really matter, though," he bellowed, "I'm gonna die, anyway."

"What would make you think that?" The brown-haired girl asked, her eyebrows furrowed.

"Draft," he answered simply. It was one small word, but its meaning was loaded. The girl's eyes widened, a hint of realization setting in, quickly followed by sadness.

"My brother was drafted," she whispered, looking down. Her blue eyes lingered on the dark concrete, staring for so long that she couldn't make out what she was looking at anymore. A stark silence settled between them, neither of them sure of what to say.

"Well, is he dead?" Christian blurted out. He wasn't quite sure why he even asked, considering this girl's brother was of no importance to him. Perhaps a small part of him wanted confirmation that the war was as much of a death sentence as he thought it to be, or maybe an even larger part wanted confirmation that it was not.

The girl shrugged. "He hasn't written in a while…" She didn't finish her thought.

Christian frowned, tightening his fists. "It's not fair, ya know," he cried. "It's just… Not fair."

He looked toward her, searching her face for a confirmation of his injustice, but there was no emotion swimming in her blue eyes.

"We should get you home, it's late," she replied. She stood, brushing the dirt off of her skirt. She held her hand out towards him, almost positive that he wouldn't be able to stand on his own without stumbling again. Christian refused her offer, rising into a kneeling position first, then pushing off of his right foot to stand up.

"I'm fine," he mumbled, turning around and walking away without another word. The girl trailed behind him, her hands meekly entangled behind her back. "Do you know where you're going?"

He sneered. "Yeah, do you? 'Cause it seems like you're followin' me."

"I am," she answered. "You don't seem to be in the best condition, so.."

"You don't have anywhere to be?" Christian asked gruffly, tripping over a hole in the ground. He clutched a light pole to keep steady. The girl placed her hand on his bicep, trying to hold his weight, but he brusquely shrugged her off. "You're mighty touchy," he mumbled, slightly annoyed.

"I was at my friend's party, but didn't really like it."

"Why not?"

"There were drugs there," she answered, ashamed, as if she had just admitted that she murdered someone. "And drinks."

"So?" Christian questioned, shrugging his shoulders.

"Well, it would be improper of me to participate in that sort of, um, lifestyle."

"Are you some sort of church nut?"

"No," she scoffed, laughing slightly. She shook her head at Christian's preposterous question. "I just don't think stuff like that is cool."

"It's not supposed to be cool. It's supposed to get you stoned. Or drunk."

"But there's no fun in that," she argued.

Christian scrunched up his face, confused and flabbergasted. "Yeah, you're a church nut."

She pursed her lips, looking down. Her hands fell back into position behind her back, her long mahogany hair creating a shield around her face. She absentmindedly bit her lip, causing Christian to stumble once again. Her eyes snapped towards him, concern taking over her face once again. He ignored her eyes on him, and tried to ignore the image of her biting her lip even more.

"So… Where do you live?"

"Thinking of spending the night?" Christian quipped.

"Oh, no, never," she answered quickly, a pale blush spreading over her cheeks and neck. "I don't, I wouldn't do something like that," she mumbled quietly, more to herself than to Christian. She straightened her skirt again and made sure all the buttons on her blouse were done.

"Then why'd ya ask?"

"I wanted to know how long we had to walk."

"You're taking me home and you say you're not that type of girl?" Christian remarked, trying to get a rise out of her. She didn't answer, instead she continued to look straight, ignoring Christian's penetrating gaze.

"It's about five more minutes," he divulged, feeling guilty for some reason. She nodded. Silence settled between them once again, making Christian tired. The streetlights all blurred together, creating a faint glare that hurt his eyes. His body felt warm and sweaty, even though it was cool outside. "How old are you?" He asked, trying to distract himself from his discomfort.

"Seventeen," she answered, not missing a beat.

"Jesus," he exclaimed, "And you're out here alone at this time of night?"

She giggled. "You sound like an old geezer."

He cringed. "You should head home, I'm fine."

She looked at him before quickly averting her gaze, that same pale pink blush spreading across her face. "I was supposed to spend the night at my friend's pad, but I left… And you seemed like you needed help," she replied quietly.

He ran his fingers through his hair, wondering how he got stuck with this unbelievably young and polite brown-haired girl. Her innocence and good cheer was… Slightly irritating to him. He nodded away at her explanation, but still pondered how she was going to get in touch with her friend. "And what about your friend?"

"Do you have a telephone?"

He pursed his lips. "Yeah," he responded.

"Then I'll call her and tell her to pick me up once I get you home safely."

He sighed. He didn't feel _that_ drunk; so drunk that he needed the help of a seventeen-year-old, but in all honesty he couldn't feel that much at the moment anyway.

"Fair enough," he groaned. A couple moments passed before he pointed towards the end of the street, the cracked pavement and lack of street lights signaling that they had entered a run down part of town. "My house is through that alley," he murmured.

Christian continued towards the alleyway for several seconds before he noticed that the brown-haired girl was not following him. He turned around quickly, immediately regretting that decision when his head spun and he tripped over his own feet for the fourth time that night. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, small flecks of blue and yellow lights emerging behind his tightly closed eyelids. When he opened them, he noticed the girl looked apprehensive. Suddenly he realized, "I'm not trying to get over on ya," he exclaimed, bewildered. He placed a hand on the back of his neck, feeling slightly embarrassed. The girl probably thought he was a murderer. He stood and looked at her for a second before quickly turning away. "Well...Good night," he called behind his shoulder as he sauntered off, slightly relieved he was finally able to ditch the mousey-looking girl that had accompanied him home, but feeling like an idiot all the same.

"Wait," she replied, "I still need to call my girl-friend."

He nodded, inwardly sighing. His last night on Earth was not turning out to be as majestic as he wanted it. They walked through the alley and took a slight left, revealing a small, dilapidated townhouse. The eggshell colored paint looked to be almost completely chipped away, while the window panels had began to slide off and slip into the yard that lay overgrown. As he felt the long blades of grass brush up against his pant leg, he swore he could feel the sweltering heat on the back of his neck and the hiss of a hundred snakes between his ears.

"Family estate," he joked, gesturing towards his home.

The girl smiled at him, her lips upturned in the warmest and most genuine of ways. Christian slowly and carefully walked up the stairs towards his front door, his head still swimming immensely. He turned the knob and shoved the door open, spreading his left arm out wide to welcome her. He didn't bother locking his door - it's not like he had anything worth stealing. He turned on the lights after following her inside.

The girl carefully stepped over the threshold of his home, taking in the stark and bereft surroundings. There wasn't much furniture, except for the small coffee table that housed a broken-down radio and a suede recliner that sat next to it. There were appliances in the kitchen, including a small phone that hung on the wall, but that was about it. She could only imagine what it looked like upstairs.

"Phone's over there…" Christian trailed off, a splitting pain rushing through the side of his head. "I'm gonna…" He rattled off, stumbling up the stairs.

The girl watched his form disappear up the stairs before she made her way towards the kitchen. She gingerly picked up the phone, placing it to her ear. She waited to hear a dial-tone, but there wasn't one. Brushing it off, she placed her finger in the small opening and rotated the dial clockwise. She repeated the steps until she had entered the entirety of her friend's number, all to no avail. She placed the handset gently back onto the cradle.

At that moment, Christian decided to join her in the kitchen. As she turned to face him, she had to keep her mouth from falling open. From the moment she had laid eyes on Christian's slumped over, drunken form, she noted how attractive he was. A "stone fox" girls her age would call him. From his tousled, unruly hair, to his muscular arms and angular jaw, everything about him screamed perfection. Now, with his hair wet, causing water droplets to fall onto his exposed chest, and his pants hanging seductively off of his hips, the girl didn't believe that anyone could be more beautiful.

"Your phone doesn't work," she murmured pathetically, making sure to not make eye contact with him. She could feel her cheeks burning. Christian frowned. He reached behind her, their bodies in close proximity, causing her to inhale quickly. She held her breath. Christian placed the receiver to his ear, wanting to see for himself.

"Huh," he grunted, amused. "Probably didn't pay the bill," he mumbled.

She frowned. "How am I supposed to get home?"

He rubbed his eyes, frustrated. "Well, you might've shoulda thought of that before you went walking alone late at night." He sighed. "There's a diner down the street, they have a phone."

She nodded, still afraid to breathe. After placing the phone on the cradle, Christian had rested his outstretched arm against the wall, effectively cornering the girl.

"What's your name?" He asked lowly.

"Ana," she replied, not missing a beat. She hesitantly looked up at him and was surprised when she met his lustful gaze. He reached down to remove her glasses.

"You're kinda pretty without these," he declared. He set them on the nearby counter.

She scoffed and looked away, her cheeks stinging with embarrassment. "Gee, thanks."

"Just joking," he lied. The cold water he had dunked his head into hadn't helped him sober up one bit, for his head remained cloudy and his vision ebbed and flowed like the water in a stream. As he stared at Ana, her porcelain skin and mahogany hair became infinitely more desirable to him. He looked at her mouth.

"Pretty lips," he murmured, stroking a finger against the pink rose petals that sat above her chin.

Goosebumps rose on her skin and her stomach filled with butterflies. Every touch he placed on her skin felt like hot coals. She breathed deeply, anticipating his next move. "Have you ever been kissed?" He asked. Ana wanted to be offended - she was graduating high school this year for God's sake, but then she realized that she probably looked as lame as she actually was.

"Once," she answered meekly.

"Not enough," Christian tsked, leaning in to place his lips upon hers. She pulled away, turning her head the opposite direction. What was she doing in a strange man's house? She asked herself, puzzled and ashamed of her actions. Why was she even in shoulders length of a man that wasn't fully dressed?

"No," she demanded. "I'm not that… Type of girl."

"You wouldn't even give a kiss to a dying man?"

Ana peered up at him, recognizing the playful lilt to his voice, but also noticing the terror that lingered in his eyes. He stood straight and tall, his whole demeanor screaming confidence and sex-appeal, but she couldn't ignore the boyish fear and insecurity that lingered underneath. He thought he was going to die. There was a very plausible chance he would. As she looked at him, she focused on his fear-stricken eyes and not her head turning up towards him, or her toes lifting her up slightly to place her lips upon his.

She questioned herself in that moment, confused, but all too willing. Was it Christian's good looks? Was it her embarrassment of how inexperienced she was? Was it her frustration with needing to fulfill the "good girl" role, so that she'd never be a disgrace to her family like her hippy friends? Or was it simply just the draft, and how it teared apart everything and everyone, leaving no prisoners? A thing like that _does_ cause people to act a little crazy.

* * *

 ** _A/N: I researched as much as I could, but it still doesn't compare to actually living during that time. My apologies if things are slightly inaccurate. If anyone has any memories they could share, I'd really appreciate it!_**

 ** _P.S. Washington's legal age of consent is 16, so don't get your panties in a bunch._**


	2. Chapter 2

The sizzle and crack of the frying pan was the only thing keeping her awake. She rubbed her eyes, took a deep breath, and plastered on the most genuine smile she could muster, then quickly made her way over to the couple who had just sat down in her section.

"What can I get for y'all today?" She chirped, her muscles tensing with each artificial burst of enthusiasm. She knew that she looked like shit - she felt like shit, but boy was she good at pretending as if she _hadn't_ gotten only three hours of sleep the night before.

Teddy, her son, had been suffering from an ear infection all week, which resulted in numerous nights filled with screaming, crying, and repeated doses of antibiotics. Her eyes drooped and her body felt weak. Just standing up was taking all of her effort. As she made her way behind the counter, placing her order sheet in the fry cook's window, she looked to see if anyone was watching her before letting out a long, exhausted yawn.

"You really need to sleep," a gruff, husky voice said from behind her. Ana jumped, clutching her chest as she turned to glare at her coworker.

"You scared the hell out of me," she hissed lowly, adjusting her glasses further up on the bridge of her nose. She sighed and smoothed down her waist apron, already feeling bad about lashing out at Marge.

"You're feisty today," Marge teased, bumping her hip against Ana's. "But don't feel bad, I didn't sleep at all last night either," she revealed, a coy smile spreading itself across her face. Ana raised an eyebrow.

"And why is that?" She asked hesitantly, wary of where Marge was taking their conversation.

She rolled her eyes. "It's nothing dirty," she scoffed, "quite the opposite, actually. I laid awake all night because I'm too damn excited," she squealed, hugging her clasped hands against her chest. Ana frowned, taken aback at Marge's sudden girlish exuberance. It was disconcerting to see a rough, take-no-attitude grown woman squealing like a thirteen-year-old schoolgirl.

"Excited about what?" Ana mumbled dryly, annoyed with Marge's good cheer. She wanted to be miserable in peace. She turned slightly away from her, refilling her apron with straws and napkins.

"My hubby comes home today," she grinned, the facial expression quickly turning devilish, "which in that case, things probably _will_ get dirty," she laughed loudly, which earned her an admonishing stare from their supervisor.

Ana turned back around, her mouth slightly agape. "You're not gay?" She blurted out, quickly placing her hands over her mouth. She tried to quell a giggle - what had possessed her to ask that?

Marge rolled her eyes, then swatted a towel at Ana's rear end. "Ya know, not taking any shit from a man doesn't make you gay."

"Yeah, but you're so… Butch."

"I like to call it 'independence'," she rebutted.

 _Order up!_ One of the cooks yelled from the kitchen, ringing the bell after he had placed all of the plates in the window. Ana and Marge both walked towards the dishes waiting for them. They looked at the entrees - they were Ana's. She rolled her eyes, "I put mine in after you, how'd it get done before?" She groaned, grabbing the two plates and making her way towards her table.

"I'm just lucky like that." She grinned, watching Ana walk away.

Ana quickly and efficiently dropped the plates off to the canoodling couple, faking all of the smiles she could muster. She half-wondered why she even bothered - they looked like the non-tipping type.

As she returned behind the counter, Marge offered her a stick of gum after she had finished pouring one of the customers a cup of coffee. Ana shook her head. What she really needed was a drink - several. She idly thought of how much she had changed over the past two years. Her old self would've been repulsed by the thought of ingesting anything other than a Coke.

Marge blew a large bubble in Ana's face, crossing her arms over her chest. Ana scowled, "how do you still have a job? You never work."

Marge shrugged. "I put in effort when I want to - definitely not today, though," she said, sighing dreamily.

"Where did your husband go?" Ana asked as she wiped off the countertop, pausing to push her wayward hair out of her face.

"'California," Marge said, cracking her gum nonchalantly.

She had heard the words that came out of Marge's mouth, but her mind was a million miles away. As her eyes digested the news headline and her ears lapped up the reporter's words, her body tensed up with anxiety. Her body warmed up, so much so that she felt as if she were on fire. She felt as if she had disconnected from the world. Her vision blurred, her ears hearing nothing but static.

Ana's heart dropped. She whipped around, turning away from the small TV that sat on a counter in the server's station. Her quick movement caused her to bump into a tray of silverware that was perched underneath the counter. Forks, knives, and spoons splattered onto the floor.

"Jesus, Ana, the hell is wrong with you?" Marge exclaimed, bending down to pick up the container's spilled contents. Ana bent down next to her, grabbing her wrist. She found it hard to breathe. It was like her body had been thrown into a lake of freezing cold water - she couldn't speak or think, her muscles tensed up into a ball of untamed fear.

"Are you okay?" Marge asked, removing Ana's grip on her wrist. "Just take a deep breath."

Ana tried to listen to her, but each time she took a breath, it was as if there wasn't enough air to fill her lungs. She opened and closed her mouth, gasping for air. She imagined she looked like a dying fish.

"You need to get your shit together before we both get fired," Marge hissed, rubbing Ana's back in an effort to soothe her. Marge's harsh words had helped Ana spring back to reality. She suddenly realized that she was on the ground, at work, having a full on panic attack with her supervisor only a handful of feet away. She imagined that he _wouldn't_ be pleased. If she got fired, how would she take care of Teddy?

"I'm… O… Kay," she rasped, her breathing starting to become more even.

Marge threw the rest of the silverware back into the container and shoved it into its previous position underneath the counter. She made a mental note to not reach inside of that bucket for the rest of the day. She grabbed Ana by the shoulders and hoisted her up, looking deep into her eyes. Her no-nonsense attitude was finally making its appearance.

"Alright, what's up with you?" She asked.

Ana clutched her stomach, her long nails bypassing the fabric of her uniform and cutting deeply into her skin. She looked down, her body still frozen over with anxiety. For two years she had waited for this very day. For two years she had waited for the chance to give Teddy the opportunity to know his father, but now that it was here, she just wanted it to go away.

Ana hesitantly looked up at Marge, their faces so close that she could smell the coffee on her breath.

"The soldiers come home today."

* * *

Christian shoved his hands deeper into his jeans as he made his way through the airport. He quickly passed all of the passengers waiting at the baggage claim - there weren't any belongings he needed to retrieve. Everything he had ever owned was slung over his shoulder in a brown travel bag. He kept his head down and his pace steady. He avoided eye-contact at all costs.

It felt cold. Damn cold. He almost had the urge to shiver, even though it was the middle of June. The cloudy, dark skies felt alien to him. The whole city of Seattle felt alien to him - or maybe it was just the world in general. He returned home in the clothes he left in, not even being able to stomach the thought of wearing his uniform. It was stuffed down in the depths of his travel bag. He had plans of tossing it out later.

As he reached the airport exit, receiving a look of blatant disgust from one of the staff members at customs, he felt a sudden wave of anxiety. The doors stood right in front of him, people barreling past, all in a rush to reach their destination. But he stood frozen. He felt paralyzed, like a prisoner in his body. He wanted to take that final step, to re-enter his old life - for everything to go back to normal. But he couldn't. His travel bag slumped off of his shoulder and fell to the floor. He gazed at the cloudy sky before him. He could smell the crisp air as the doors opened and shut, could feel it on his skin as the passengers sped past him. His mouth felt dry, his limbs heavy and weak. He swore he could hear the buzzing of cicadas dancing between his ears.

"Is this our thing now? Me helping you when you're incapacitated…" Ana quipped, desperately trying to seem calm, although she felt like her heart was going to drop out of her ass.

Christian blinked, the buzzing in his ears stopping immediately. He turned sideways, towards the voice speaking to him. He felt a sense of relief once he could finally move his body again. His eyes fell onto a mousey girl with brown hair. She looked disheveled and pale, her skin dewy with perspiration and her glasses perched lowly on the bridge of her nose. She smiled crookedly at him, but it was awkward and lacked any type of genuine mirth. He blinked again.

"What?" He asked, utterly confused. He wasn't quite sure if the girl was actually speaking to him. Was there someone standing behind him? He quickly turned around to check, but was met with only more barreling people making their way towards the double doors. "You talkin' to me?"

"Y-yes," she squeaked, laughing loudly and awkwardly. She blushed and quickly looked down, taking a deep, unsteady breath. She pushed her hair away from her face.

"I don't know what you mean… What thing? Do we know each other?" He pondered, examining the girl from head to toe. If they had met before, he could see why she wouldn't be memorable. Her work uniform was a size too large, not to mention she coupled it with an unsightly pair of cheap tennis shoes. Despite her uniform being fairly big, he could still see that she carried a little weight in her midriff. His CO would've called it "baby fat." She wore no makeup and he could tell she got little sleep - the dark circles around her eyes made her look gaunt and exhausted. The only thing that struck him as remotely attractive on her were her lips, which were plump and a beautiful shade of pale pink.

Even with her flaws, she wasn't exactly ugly. Just not memorable. He stopped examining her long enough to realize that she hadn't responded. He refocused his gaze from her lips and placed them onto her eyes, which were slowly starting to tear up. He inwardly groaned. She was probably one of the dozens of girls he had slept with and forgotten the next day. He almost thought to fake remembrance, not wanting to deal with how awkward the conversation would eventually get.

She shook her head, looking down once again. Her eyes, which were once filled with hurt just a second ago, became hard and distant.

"You know, actually, I'm so sorry. I thought you were someone else," she murmured lowly. She crossed her arms and bit her lip.

He stopped breathing. He felt a jolt in his stomach as he peered at the layer of pink flesh held between her teeth. A fuzzy memory of this very same girl standing in his kitchen darted across his mind.

"Ana," he said matter-of-factly. He did know this girl.

Her eyes snapped to his. She looked bewildered, almost as if she couldn't believe that he had said her name. She nodded slowly, an expression of shock and disbelief still prominent on her face.

He shoved his hands into his pockets again, rocking back and forth onto his heels. He wondered what he should say. Hello? How's it going? It had been two years and they only met once. They weren't friends by a long shot, yet she felt the need to be here for his arrival. She held out hope that he was alive. Even more astonishing, she _cared_ if he were alive.

"How are you?" She asked, trying to fill the stark silence. They stared at one another, their bodies only a couple feet apart. They were frozen to their spots, taking in the forms of one another once again. Boy had they both changed. "You cut your hair," she observed.

"Yeah, wasn't by choice," he stated, his tone sharp. He crossed his arms. "So, uh, why are you here?" He asked, not meaning to be rude, although it definitely sounded like it. "How did you even know I would be home?"

"I saw it on the news. They said people were geared up for y'all's arrival… I asked around and was sent here. So I just kind of assumed you'd be…" She trailed off.

"And your brother?" He pondered, staring intently at her. He searched her face and body for any change in emotion, a small, sick part of him almost hoping to hear of her brother's tragic fate.

"He came home a couple months after you left."

Christian felt oddly bitter about the news. Nevertheless, he nodded, still awaiting an answer to his first question. "But still, why are you here?"

She nervously scratched at her left arm, peering down at her shoes. A scarlet blush settled across her cheeks, her heart starting to speed up. She felt like fleeing, to run away from the situation and never look back. She could lie to Teddy, tell him his father died in the war. No one would ever have to know. Especially not the man in front of her. The man who seemed so broken and isolated he could never feel anything for her or her child.

Their child.

She took a deep breath. "I have something to show you."

* * *

 **A/N: Sorry for such a late upload. I'm currently balancing school and two jobs. Hopefully, I'll have these chapters updated much faster in the future. Also, sorry if I'm lacking on the realism aspect. I've done some research and received lots of great information from some people on here, but it still doesn't compare to actually living it. I'm not sure if they would've actually announced the soldiers' arrival on the news, but since Ana didn't keep in contact with Christian, I came up with the next best alternative. If you guys have any more information to give me, I'd greatly appreciate it.**

 **Xoxo**


	3. Chapter 3

He still stood stuck in place. Half of his apprehension stemmed from what Ana - a girl he hasn't seen or spoken to in two years - could possibly want to show him, and the other half stemmed from what would happen once he stepped back into reality. For the past twenty-four months, his sole focus has been on staying alive. Well, he's accomplished that feat… So what now? He had no family, no job, probably not even a place to lay his head. His stomach roiled. As he stood in front of those double doors, he didn't feel as though he had much to fight for.

"Are you coming?" She asked, peering over her shoulder to look at him. She stood a couple feet in front of him, unsure of what to expect, yet patient. She imagined he felt like an alien in his own territory.

He turned his gaze from the bright light shining through the exit doors, to the hand outstretched in front of him. She stared warmly at him, her head slightly cocked to the side. He took a deep breath and stepped forward. Stopped. Then took another. And stopped again.

 _You've seen guys get their legs blown off, stop being a pansy,_ he admonished himself. He shook his head and closed his eyes, clearing his thoughts. He felt silly - what was there to fear?

He brushed past Ana's outstretched hand, walking briskly toward the doors. A cold, crippling sensation started making its way up his body, starting from the tip of his toes, but he pretended not to feel it.

"You're walking kinda fast," Ana remarked, letting out an awkward half-laugh, half-sigh. She emerged by his side, trying to move her short, stumpy legs as fast as she could to match his pace. "I'm over here," she said, pointing to a small parking lot off to the far left end of the airport.

"Lead the way," Christian murmured sardonically, sweeping his arm out in a flourishing motion, gesturing for her to get in front of him.

She sighed, relieved. There was no doubt Christian was in excellent shape, but most of her nights consisted of watching tv with her son and eating chicken nuggets and Mac-n-cheese. Even that small bout of exercise winded her.

The cold, crippling sensation started to settle in the pit of Christian's stomach. He felt anxious, almost panicky. He clenched his teeth trying to ignore the awful feeling. In an effort to distract himself, Christian pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, placing one of the sticks between his lips. He lit a match and placed it at the end of the cigarette, inhaling deeply. Ana turned around at the sound of the spark, her face contorting into a grimace when she saw Christian smoking.

"You smoke?" She asked, her voice laced with disgust.

"That seems to be what it looks like," he murmured, a large cloud of smoke exiting his mouth as he spoke.

"They're bad for your health," she grumbled, pulling the cigarette from between his lips. She discarded it into a nearby bush.

He rolled his eyes, pulling the pack out of his back pocket once again. She gaped at him, reaching out to grab it from him, but this time he moved away before she had the chance to.

"This one isn't a cig," he said, lighting it away from her.

She frowned, confused. Then she caught a whiff of a familiar scent: slightly musty, yet slightly sweet. She remembered the awful smell from many of the parties Kate had dragged her to.

"Christian!" She screeched, fanning the air around them to get rid of the scent. "We're at an airport, you can't do that here." She looked around anxiously, hoping no one was looking at them. She grabbed his arm and quickened their pace.

A ghost of a smile appeared on his face as he watched Ana drag them towards her car.

"You should really relax. Want some?" He asked quizzically, dangling the joint in front of her face. She turned her head.

"How did you not get caught with that?"

He shrugged. "No one's really looking for it."

They finally arrive at her car, which is an extremely old, but still well-conditioned 1965 rambler classic. Christian's hands glided over the smooth, blue polish.

"Pretty," he remarked.

"And endangered," she countered, "no one even repairs these anymore, or sells any of the parts."

"Where'd you buy it?"

"A gift from a family friend, actually." She unlocked the car door. "You have to put that out before you get inside."

"It's not even half done yet," he complained. His buzz was only at half-potential as well.

She crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow. He rolled his eyes again, stubbing the joint out on the bottom of his boot. He placed it back into his cigarette pack - he'd finish it later.

"Happy now?" He asked sarcastically, sliding into the passenger seat. She followed suit, cranking the car on and rolling down the windows. She took her glasses off and placed them on the dashboard.

"Ya know, I really hope whatever it is you're going to show me is worth all this trouble," he said, placing his head slightly out the window. The cool breeze on his skin felt like wisps of angel hair.

The cold, crippling sensation that had previously immersed almost every inch of his skin, had evaporated along with the smoke that he exhaled. His head felt cloudy as he focused on the rumble of the car and the air on his face.

Ana peered over at him, slightly alarmed at the sight. His head was nestled on the frame of the window, most of his face exposed to the open breeze, with his tongue slightly hanging out of his mouth.

"You okay over there?"

"Peachy-keen," he said, almost in a singsong manner.

She shook her head. "To some people it wouldn't be worth it. Maybe it'd be an outright burden…" Ana whispered.

Christian turned to look at her. "Huh?"

"Oh," she flushed, not meaning for him to hear her comment. "I was just responding to what you said a moment ago."

Christian frowned. "What did I say?"

Ana sighed, smiling slightly. "Nothing."

Christian started to feel a little more bold with the cannabis in his system. He reached over and softly pulled Ana's glasses off of the dashboard.

"How blind are you, exactly, without these?" He questioned. He placed them on, his vision going haywire immediately. Everything seemed ultra clear and too close.

"They're for reading," she answered.

He took them off, rubbing his eyes. "So then what's the point of wearing them when you're not reading?"

Ana opened her mouth to respond, then closed it. She bit her lip. "I guess I just forget to take them off."

"So you supplement your partial blindness with total blindness?" He scoffed, amused. "I used to have braces," Christian murmured absently, "they made me look like shit."

"I doubt anything could make you look like shit," Ana blurted out, then blushed furiously. She placed a hand over her mouth, hoping Christian hadn't heard. He did.

He cocked an eyebrow. "So you think I'm hot?" He asked playfully.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Christian grinned, turning to look out the window. He absentmindedly thought of how it was his first real grin in two years. The smile slowly dissipated.

He noticed that they were passing a familiar street. He sat up, his attention peaked. "Hey, take this right," he ordered, pointing in the direction of a side street.

Ana obliged, unsure of why he was telling her to turn, but didn't think much of it. She was about to drop a bomb on him soon - it was probably best to get in his good graces beforehand.

"Go straight… Okay, turn left here." Before Christian could explain where they were going, she already knew. Even though the memory was hazy, the street lights and broken sidewalks were all too familiar. They were going to Christian's home.

Her legs felt tingly, not with excitement but trepidation. She imagined Christian wouldn't be too enthused with what was waiting for him at that old, broken down townhouse. As they made their way further and further down the street, both of them were confused by what they were seeing. The houses, once covered in chipped paint, with yards full of seas of green grass, were now pristinely white and surrounded by expertly trimmed hedges.

They emerged in front of Christian's old home, which looked unrecognizable except for the same number painted on the mailbox - which was no longer damaged. She parked on the sidewalk, watching as Christian slowly exited the passenger side, standing with his arm perched on the open car door. He gaped at the sight in front of him, the curtains of the front windows pulled back enough just to reveal the sight of a small boy sitting in front of a tv. His mother, Christian assumed, came up behind him and scooted him further away from the tv. She said something to him before planting a kiss on his cheek and exiting the room.

Ana looked at Christian out of the corner of her eye, not wanting to encroach on the private moment he was having. She felt like an outsider, helpless to comfort him - not even sure if she _could_ comfort him. As she looked at his face, he had regained his composure, his face a mask of unaffected coolness, but within his grey eyes she could see the faint hint of a man in pain.

Christian leaned harder on the car door, his toes starting to feel numb once again. Not only had the sensation came back, but his vision started to blur. As his head spun, he struggled to keep his breathing even.

"Are you okay, Christian?" Ana finally spoke, unnerved at his changing demeanor.

He hopped back into the car, clutching his stomach as he tried to keep from vomiting. He blocked the sight of another family in his home out of his mind, and desperately pretended as though the cold, crippling sensation wasn't making its way up his body like a snake on a vine.

"Peachy-keen," he choked out.

* * *

As they grew nearer and nearer to Ana's apartment, her heart felt as though it was pumping out of her chest. Her hands got cold and clammy, the hair on the back of her neck standing up. She idly wondered if she had made a mistake. Her and Ted had made it this far, was it worth it to complicate things at the moment?

Christian had no inkling of Ana's panicky nature, as he was focused on breathing normally. His body still felt out of whack, although he felt less anxious than before. He put his head in his hands. _What the hell is going on with me?_ He thought to himself. They sat adjacent to one another, each dealing with their own dilemma unbeknownst to the other.

Ana grew even more apprehensive when she thought of how Christian would take it. She didn't know if she could recover from the pain and embarrassment if Christian rejected Teddy. For her to put herself out there, to try to establish… Some sort of relationship between them, she didn't know how she would feel if he didn't care at all. She was only _just_ recovering from the social outcasting she received from being a single, teenaged mother. She didn't know how to feel if the father of her child isolated her too.

The car slowed down, which prompted Christian to lift his head. He furrowed his eyebrows, noticing they were at an apartment building. He imagined that Ana would be taking him to… Someplace other than an apartment building. He gazed at her, his eyes silently questioning her.

"This something is actually… A someone," she whispered, looking down.

Christian frowned. "Okay…" he trailed off, thoroughly confused. A thought crossed his mind, that perhaps Ana would introduce him to her brother. He almost rolled his eyes. Whatever "bond" she thought they would have just because they were both vets didn't exist. And it never would. Christian never wanted to think about the war or anyone involved with it.

She didn't return his gaze, even though he stared at her so hard it was though he was trying to look through her. Her face drained completely of blood, her skin pale and ashen. She felt like throwing up - or running away; although both options were equally unappealing. Every second a new concern popped into her mind: what if Christian reacted violently? Or didn't react at all? She imagined apathy would be worse than anger. What if he didn't believe her?

Her head swam and swam with thousands of other possibilities and scenarios, each one ending in heartache and regret. She didn't think she could go through with it.

"This was a mistake," she blurted out, sitting up and pushing back the loose hair that hung from her ponytail behind her ears. She placed her hands on her thighs, idly rocking back and forth.

Christian raised an eyebrow. "So, you show up announced _specifically_ looking for me, take me on a twenty minute drive, _just_ to say all of it was a mistake?" He responds, condescendingly. He opens the door, hopping out then turning around to face her. He crouches down, his left arm perched on the hood of the car, the right perched on the open door. "Get out of the car, Ana. I believe there's a show for me to see," he murmurs sardonically.

She blanches, unmoving. Christian sighs. He shuts the door, walking over to the other side. He speaks through her open window. "This is unfair - being incapacitated is my thing."

"This is wrong. I can't do it like this," she whispers, more to herself than Christian.

He backs up, crossing his arms as he stares at her. "Want me to take off?"

"Where are you going to go?" She questions. He didn't have a house anymore.

He shrugs. "I'm pretty crafty." He turns on his heel and begins to walk in the other direction. Ana looks at his moving form for a few seconds, before mustering some willpower to go after him. "Wait," she calls, "how am I supposed to contact you?"

He opens his arms out to the side in an _I don't know_ gesture. "Here's an idea: how about you don't?" he remarks offhand, placing another cigarette in his mouth.

"So that's it? You're just going to… Run off?" She asks, trailing behind him.

"Not running, walking."

"You don't even have a place to live. Do you have money?" She asks, concerned, yet annoyed with his lack of regard towards the situation.

"Do you think I've been risking my life for free?"

"No, but..."

He spins around, causing Ana to bump into him. The sudden motion bounces her back, "Has your plan been to bitch at me all day?"

"No, I'm trying to help you," she argued.

"Why would I want your help?" He asks, his voice cold, yet confused at the same time. For the life of him he couldn't understand why this girl was… Clinging to him. It was unnerving - and frustrating. "You're like this… Leech I can't get rid of," he spits.

"Trust me, if I could completely rid you of my life, I would," she mumbled, her tone harsh, yet sad.

He laughed loudly, sarcastically, "I don't see what's stopping you."

"That's because it's inside - probably sleeping," she choked out, her stomach roiling and heart pumping once again. Her head felt full of pressure as she thought about what she was about to tell him.

He furrowed his eyebrows, unsure of what exactly she meant.

"What are you talking about?" He breathed through a plum of smoke.

"The night we…" She trailed off, her skin turning pale pink, "Spent together, resulted in more than just shame and regret the next day."

"It was that bad?" He asked, mockingly.

She clenched her teeth, ignoring him. "I got…"

He waited for her to continue, but she never did. A minute passed before he sighed, willing her to go on. "Got…?"

"Pregnantwithyourchild," she spat out, rushing to say it all before she lost the courage. It came out so quickly that it didn't even sound like a sentence - more like one word.

She turned around, clutching her stomach. She felt dizzy, albeit quite relieved. It was a confusing feeling - anxiety and peace mixed together. She couldn't face him, but could feel his presence behind her. He spun her around, his face a mask of cool indifference.

"Really?" He asked.

"Yes," she sighed, "And I've been waiting two years to say that."

He shrugged. "I don't think it was worth the wait."

* * *

 ** _Don't get too alarmed, this story will have a HEA. I also plan for the upcoming chapters to be much longer. Thanks for reading._**

 ** _Xoxo_**


	4. Chapter 4

The first thought that crossed her mind was that she hadn't heard him correctly. Her facial expression remained impassive, denial preventing her from reacting logically.

"What is that supposed to mean?" She asked, her voice calm and level. She felt detached, almost like an outsider looking in: this couldn't actually be happening to her right now, could it?

"I don't know how to explain it any further," he responded, shrugging with his arms slightly out to the side. "I don't have anything that you'd want."

She frowned, crossing her arms. Now she was really confused. "What exactly do you think I want from you?"

"Time, money, energy," he rattled off. "Attencion-"

"I don't want your money," she scoffed, offended.

"But you do want the other things." She looked down, biting her bottom lip. It wasn't a weird request - it was his duty as a father - but he said it as though she were asking for much. He shook his head. "I don't think I can offer that."

"It's not much. It's actually nothing at all compared to what you've been doing for the past two years," she remarked in a clipped tone.

"I didn't want to do that."

"Do you not want to do… _This_?"

"Quite honestly, no," he responded matter-of-factly. He took another drag of his cigarette, staring blankly at her. She furrowed her eyebrows, her mouth agape in shock. He was so cold and callous, nothing like the person she had met two years ago. Christian had always been rough around the edges, but before he could at least care about something or someone other than himself.

She swallowed hard, trying to ignore the lump in her throat. She simply nodded, turning and walking away, holding back tears. What did she expect? That he would welcome her with open arms? She felt stupid, stupid for making such a foolish mistake both today and years ago, but also stupid for expecting anything other than the outcome she received. This was all her fault and there wasn't anything she could do about it.

"Ana," he called, still staring as she walked away. She stopped, her heart racing. She turned around slowly, praying that perhaps he did have a heart. "Forgot my bag," he said as though he just remembered, nodding towards the backseat of her car.

She narrowed her eyes, her hands tingling. A small, obscure laugh slipped through her lips. She stormed towards the car, prying open the back door as though it were the source of all of her misery. She grabbed his bag harshly, pulling at the strap with overwhelming force. She projected all of her pain and anger onto the inanimate object. She slammed the door, the sound echoing through the street and turned towards him, taking five angry and loud steps before she threw the luggage at him. He caught it swiftly, deflecting any type of injury he would've suffered. He smiled slightly.

She turned back around, hurrying away before the first tear fell down her cheek. Christian did the same, slinging the bag over his shoulder. The only difference was he had no tears in his eyes.

* * *

He had a bad habit of living in the present. Some would say that's a good thing, but it's necessary to think in terms of future and past for certain things. He walked aimlessly down the street, watching his feet hit the concrete. He hadn't yet thought of where he would stay or what he would do for a living now that he was no longer in the army. He continued to walk straight, no destination in mind. He was just… Existing. And he wasn't sure he was okay with that.

He felt a large void, one that he couldn't fill or even muster up the energy to fill. He moved his head from side to side, cracking the joints in his neck. He felt tense, he felt anxious, he felt annoyed, but all of the emotions were mixed up with an overwhelming feeling of nothingness. He didn't understand how he could feel empty and overcome at the same time.

He wasn't a complete sociopath, he had a conscious, but he couldn't imagine caring for a child while he wasn't sure he could even care for himself. He wondered if he had handled the situation incorrectly, then decided that it didn't matter anyway - they'd get over it. Life goes on, which was a lesson he had cruelly learned.

Then he had an even more sickening thought: Ana was the only person in Washington he knew. Of course he had worked with other people and had neighbors, but he didn't know where they were at now. He didn't have their contact information. He was completely alone, which he wasn't sure how to feel about. It should be comforting, after living with dozens of smelly, annoying, stupid men, but for some reason he couldn't find pleasure in the thought. He was finding it hard to find pleasure in anything nowadays.

He wasn't sure what time it was, but the sun had began to set. He'd have to figure something out soon. He took in his surroundings: there were a couple of shops around, but the street remained mostly deserted except for a few pedestrians. It wasn't really a street at all, but a road that led to a location he was sure he wasn't familiar with. He realized that he wasn't anywhere near Ana's apartment anymore, so he must've wandered for a while.

He wanted a drink - a strong one. He looked around, but there were no bars in sight. There was only a couple of convenience stores and an auto shop. He decided to try his luck with one of the convenience stores. He sauntered inside, goosebumps forming on the surface of his skin as the air from the ceiling fan hit him. He walked straight to the back of the store, grunting an uninterested and haphazard response to the clerk's greeting. To his surprise - and relief - there was a small section in the cooler for alcohol. It wasn't anything strong, but it would do.

He placed two beers on the counter which the clerk absentmindedly rung up.

"$2.50," she said, cracking the bubble gum she chewed loudly. Christian gave her a five dollar bill. "Nice hair," she remarked sarcastically with a biting tone. Her eyes were glazed with concealed resentment. Christian knew exactly what she was implying. He grabbed the beers and trucked out of the store. "Keep the change," he mumbled over his shoulder, not because he felt like being a generous person, but because the money made him feel dirty. How he earned it… He didn't want to be reminded.

Once he was outside, he placed one of the beers in his bag and popped open the top on the other one. He was surprised at how great it tasted, considering it was one of the off brands, but he probably only thought so because he was used to drinking water which lacked any taste at all. The sun was almost set, meaning that pretty soon the road would be immersed in darkness, which made him anxious. He wasn't a fan of darkness.

At the moment, he really wished he would've thought ahead. He ran a hand over his head, not able to pull at the strands like he used to. He decided that it would be best to just turn around, instead of trying to continue down the unknown road and hope for the best. This time, he walked quickly and kept his eyes focused straight ahead, sipping after every other step.

The solitude made him uncomfortable. He didn't know how to adjust being completely alone in the world. His homecoming wasn't what many would think it would be. He didn't have a large group of people waiting for him with signs and balloons, he didn't have a home to come back to, or any reason to feel glad to be home other than the fact that he wasn't in constant danger anymore - but even that didn't feel worth it. But who was he kidding? His life had always been shit. Now, it was just shittier.

It was finally dark, but since he had ventured back into the city, there were street lights there to guide him. It was a summer night, so the streets were filled with teenagers running around getting into things they weren't supposed to. They looked so fresh-faced and carefree, not a worry in any of their well-kempt heads. He felt like bursting their bubbles, explaining to them how everything they're doing in this moment will never matter because eventually, they'd all be dead and everyone important to them would be dead. After a couple of decades, no one would remember them or any of the things they did that they thought were so important. Life was fickle, and quite frankly, pointless.

He threw his finished beer can in one of the alleyways, feeling only a tad bit woozy. It was good, he thought, to feel something other than emptiness. Even if it would only be for an hour or two. Now that he had returned to familiar surroundings, he stopped worrying. His body returned to autopilot mode, taking him on a trip with no destination. He didn't care about the past, didn't care about the future. He would walk all night if he had to, sleep on a bench if it came down to it. All in all, he just didn't give a shit. It was freeing to not care, to not doubt or overthink your every move. Or at least that's what people thought. So many people strive to live their lives with no regrets, no worries, but 80% of them never reach that point; probably because we're not meant to. It's human nature to care about your well-being, your reputation, your relationships with others. Those that don't care are the ones with the problems.

He hummed a song as he strolled past smiling faces and murmuring voices, only looking up every so often. He saw girls with long hair in miniskirts, guys with long hair with their hands up the girls' mini skirts. Not too long ago he was one of those guys - foolish and full of hormones. He averted his gaze, looking at his feet again, humming the same tune.

His feet made him turn left, probably because his nose smelled the familiar scent of smoke and alcohol coming from that direction. He didn't look up until his feet stopped moving. As he took in where he had landed, he felt shocked for a moment. Not because of where he was, but because he wasn't sure how he had gotten there or why. He stepped through the threshold of the doorway. He stood there, feeling as if he had just time traveled back two years. Nothing about the bar had changed, except it was slightly more crowded. He swore even the same song was playing. He took another step further before stopping again. He could feel the coldness creeping up his leg.

He felt dizzy, the smoke in the air making it harder to breathe. His stomach ached as if there were small needles being pushed around inside of him. He wanted to turn around, keep wandering all night and forget about being here, but his feet carried him towards the bar. He sat in one of the stools, the coldness slithering around his thighs.

"What can I get ya?" The bartender asked. Christian looked into his eyes, searching for clues that would make him remember him, but he couldn't. It wasn't the same guy.

"Anything strong," he answered. The guy nodded, plotting to give Christian the most expensive drink they had. That's what happens when people aren't specific, he thought to himself. Christian stared down at his hands, humming again, while the bartender looked him up and down. He placed the drink in front of him. "If you're out cruisin', this ain't the place to be," he said to Christian,"not a lot of ladies come in here, plus they're not fans of the military shabang. Real sensitive about the whole thing, keep crying about all the dead babies and rape-"

"You can tell? How?" Christian asked, taking a long swig of his drink.

The bartender laughed. "You're like a neon sign. You've got the whole 'woe is me, my life sucks, I've killed a ton of people now I'm sad' look down pat," he responded in a high-pitched, mocking tone. "The hair doesn't help either. Maybe wear a wig for a while."

Christian's jaw tightened. "No thanks," he murmured.

"Well, at least you're alive - and not crippled," he said, "Unless you've actually got a wooden leg, which would totally be bitchin'. Lift up your pant leg."

"I don't have a wooden leg."

"Damn, what a wasted opportunity," he said quietly, more to himself than Christian.

He frowned. "How old are you? Twelve?"

"I'm eighteen," he blurted, offended.

"And the owner is cool with that?"

"He's my dad, so yeah," he bragged, using a washcloth to wipe down the counter.

He raised a stupid kid, Christian thought to himself. The thought made his toes twitch, a weird and dreadful feeling coming over him. He couldn't figure out why.

"What was it like?" The boy asked, his eyes gleaming with sick fascination. "Was it bloody?"

"Oh, gee, I don't know," Christian responded sarcastically, "We spent weeks trudging through tangled veins on our hands and knees, trying to avoid bombs, meanwhile fighting to the death, so no, I'm gonna say it wasn't very bloody," he spat, downing the rest of his drink.

"That sounds so cool."

"You're eighteen, why don't you go try it."

"Family wouldn't be cool with it, plus I've got this smokin' lady friend to worry about. It'd break her heart," he disclosed.

Christian groaned at his use of smokin'. He almost laughed at how ridiculous the kid was.

"She'd have to be pretty dumb to give a guy like you a chance."

"I know!" He exclaimed, "I definitely got lucky."

This time Christian actually smirked, but quickly wiped it away before he let the kid realize that he was entertaining his nonsense. He served Christian another drink, rinsing out his old cup and putting it on a drying rack.

"Do you have a lady friend?" The kid asked, "I bet she's pretty excited with you being alive and all."

"There's eight other guys sitting up here, why are you wasting your time talking to me?" Christian asked.

The boy shrugged. "I don't know… You're interesting. Are you gonna answer my question or not?" He asked, slightly whining.

"No, I don't."

"Oh. That sucks."

"Not really."

"Yes, really," he argued, "Your lady friend is supposed to meet you at the airport with a sign and balloons, anxiously anticipating your arrival, and when you finally see her, you drop your bags and sweep her into your arms."

Christian shook his head, "You watch too many movies."

"I mean, I don't see the point in almost dying if there's no one around to mourn your death."

Christian stared at him, his mouth cracked open slightly. His eyebrows were furrowed, as if he didn't understand what the kid had said, but in fact he did understand. He was taken aback by how much sense the young boy actually made.

"I mean…" He trailed off, not sure how to respond, so he just gave up. He tried to forget the thought, wanting to distance himself from the conversation completely. He put his body back into autopilot mode.

"I'm totally right and you know it," he gloated.

Christian grunted.

"You have to have a family then. Your mom?"

"Dead," Christian answered, then inwardly chastised himself. Why was he giving this punk kid information about his personal life? He clutched his drink tighter, sipping more enthusiastically.

"Dad? Brother? Sister? Uncle?"

Christian shrugged. "Huh," the kid remarked, "No blood relatives? No wonder you're sad. But at least it was you out there and not some guy with a huge family instead."

Christian slid his empty glass across the counter. His hands balled into fists. Did this kid have no filter? It was almost as if Christian were having a conversation with himself: a self-absorbed, insensitive, blunt asshole. Even worse, the kid thought he was charming.

He shook his head, although he did have a point. Maybe it actually _was_ better for Christian to have gone through two years of hell instead of some other poor bastard who was actually cared about.

"I do… Have a blood relative," Christian said quietly, so low that the kid didn't even hear him. He had turned away to serve another customer. The thought was confusing to Christian, shocking as well. As the words rang throughout his head, he felt as though the information was just now becoming apparent to him. Christian did have a family, or at least a family member. He didn't know how to feel. He had gone through life so accustomed to not having anyone to relate to, just strangers who pretended to understand him and told them they were his family. Now, there was actually another person in the world like him.

He bit his tongue. Genetically like him. He prayed to God the kid didn't turn out emotionally like him. Or equally as bad, like the bartender he had spent the past thirty minutes talking to. He stood up, his feet taking control once again. He placed a ten on the counter.

"Uh, that'll be five more," the kid said.

"Fifteen dollars?!"

"You had three drinks and you weren't specific."

Christian rolled his eyes, placing more money on the counter. "You're a punk, you know that?" He said roughly.

The kid flashed a crooked smile. "That's my intention."

Christian walked out of the bar, this time not falling over himself in a drunken stupor. As he stood on the sidewalk, the air swirling gently across his skin, the chatter of pedestrians echoing through his ears, he was transported back two years ago to the cold, empty street and nothing but the sight of a brown-haired girl with gentle eyes.

He shook his head, inhaling deeply. It smelled just like how it did two years ago. The scent of a night in Seattle smelled like cigarette smoke and booze and oddly enough, it somehow reminded him of Ana. With his bag still slung over his shoulder, his feet carried him down a path he had gone down once before. He hummed, watching his shoes, feeling the coldness creeping in once again. He could hardly breathe, his hands and feet tingling with the pangs of anxiety. He felt crazy, he felt lost and all of it made him want to run.

His legs swung harder and faster, the air breezing past his skin. He focused on nothing but the road ahead, the cold vines swirling around his legs trying to grip tighter. He tried to outrun them. He raced down the street, this time with a destination in mind.

An apartment building.

By the time he got there, he felt like his lungs would explode. The coldness tangled itself around his whole body, his heart racing and his head swimming. He didn't even know which apartment was hers, but he trudged up the steps, trying to desperately gasp for air. He squinted as he saw the long list of resident names. The words seemed to swirl, all of them entangled in a jumbled mess. Perhaps he shouldn't have had three drinks before coming here.

He squinted and widened his eyes over and over again, trying to decipher all of the names. He saw an A and N, which made him pause. _Anastasia Steele_. He thought for a moment, realizing he had no idea what her full name was. Seems c _lose enough_ , he thought, jamming the call button. The sound of the buzzer rang throughout the empty street. It couldn't have been later than 10 PM, prompting Christian to note that people on this side of town closed shop early.

He jammed the button again when there was no response. He pressed it a third time just to hear the sound again. Then he pressed it another time, then again-

"What?!" An angry, feminine voice answered, "It is the middle of the night, I hope whoever this is has a very good reason for bothering me," she complained.

"I don't really have a reason… Well, one that I know of. I'm just here," Christian responded bashfully. He was embarrassed, scared of Ana's reaction. It was rare for Christian to ever care about anyone's opinion of him.

"Christian?" She asked, her voice low and somber.

"That's the name," he joked lightly.

"What do you want?" She responded, toughening up. Her voice was harsh and her tone clipped. She was still extremely upset about what happened earlier. She wanted him to see that he couldn't treat her like dirt and expect it be okay; but most of all she didn't want him to see her vulnerable.

"I… Don't know."

"Then that's a bit of a waste of time then, hmm?"

He didn't answer, just stared down at his feet. A couple of seconds went by before she responded again. "Christian?" She asked, fearful that he had once again disappeared. This time, her tone was much softer.

"Is it… A boy or girl?" He asked, still looking down. He wasn't sure why he asked, but he wasn't sure why he was at her apartment either. This is where his feet had guided him.

"Boy," she responded, smiling slightly. Christian couldn't see her, but he could hear the smile in her voice.

"Look like me?" He asked again. Running a hand over his head. His stomach filled with needles again, the weird feeling spreading its way through his body.

"Yeah," she answered.

"Poor bastard," he responded. She giggled, then sighed.

"Why are you here, Christian?" She pondered. "You can't just-"

"Can I see… Him?"

She stopped breathing, her stomach dropping. She wasn't sure if it was in fear or relief. "It's late…"

"I won't wake him."

She didn't answer. Seconds continued to pass, Christian growing more and more weary by the second. He shook his head. It was stupid for coming here. He was stupid for trying to be normal. He could never be normal. He turned away, ready to head down the stairs.

"Okay," she said quickly. He turned around, the door to the apartment building unlocking. He grabbed the handle, pulling it open swiftly. The cold, crippling sensation started up again, but this time he didn't let it hold him back.


	5. Chapter 5

Her house didn't have a scent, it had an aura. As soon as he stepped over the threshold, he caught the most unlikely feeling: peace. It was so warm in the living room, as if there was a space heater on, although the idea was crazy considering it was summertime. The most boggling thing about it, however, was that it wasn't an overwhelming warm, it just felt nice. Cozy. A comfortable warm.

She smiled bashfully at him, the corners of her mouth upturning ever so slightly. A small, scarlet flush brushed over the surface of her cheeks, her bottom lip grasped between her teeth. She felt uneasy, an unpleasant feeling flowing throughout her body. Was she daydreaming? Hallucinating? It felt so surreal to have Christian in her living room, waiting to see their child. Two years had passed and since Christian had been deployed, she hadn't stopped counting the days until she could see him again. Now that he was here, she couldn't feel more confused and anxious.

"For a waitress, you have a lot of nice stuff," he remarked, sauntering around the living room. His fingers brushed over the surface of one of the tables, the pads of his fingers gliding effortlessly along the smooth polish. He picked up one of the picture frames sitting idly. It was a small black and white photo of a girl sitting on top of a man's lap. The man had short, brown hair that was slicked back elegantly, his mustache trimmed impeccably and a pair of round glasses drawing attention to his vibrant eyes. The girl wore a dress and a large bow in her thick, wavy hair.

Christian held the picture up to Ana's face. He shook his head, "you haven't changed."

She scoffed. "I beg to differ," she disagreed, taking the picture from Christian's hands and placing it back onto the table. "I'm about three times the size I was then."

He didn't respond, as he was too busy taking in his surroundings. There was a television set near the dining room and a radio placed neatly on the coffee table. He walked through the dining room and kitchen, eyeing the small, square table decorated with a lace tablecloth and the numerous plants placed on the windowsills. Everything was extremely clean; he noted that there wasn't even a dish in the kitchen sink. There were a multitude of pictures all along the walls, of Ana and two other men. No other family members were included, which peaked Christian's interest.

"You only have two family members?" He asked, slurring slightly. He decided to sit at the table, his head starting to pound. Maybe running all the way here while drunk wasn't such a good idea, he thought.

"Would that be weird?" she asked, dancing around the question. He shook his head. "Teddy's room is down there," she told him, pointing towards a hallway adjacent to the living room.

"Oh," he said, remembering why he was here in the first place. He stood up quickly, regretting the action as soon as he did it. He gripped the edge of the table to keep steady.

"Are you okay? You can come back later…"

"No, I'm fine," he lied, rubbing his temples. All of a sudden he felt very sleepy. "I'll try to be as quiet as possible," he whispered while making the "A-okay" sign with his fingers. He cleared his throat and gestured for Ana to lead the way.

She moved slowly and quietly. Christian's eyes wandered to the picture frames that aligned the walls in the hallway. He noticed that there seemed to be a picture missing. The hole from the nail was still visible, while a brown imprint of the frame stood out against the eggshell colored wall. He didn't say anything about it, but kept it tucked away in the back of his mind.

She stopped abruptly outside of a room. She turned around to face him. "Don't go in, don't say anything, don't even breathe," she commanded, "It took me two hours to get him asleep."

"Sure," he responded, relieved that she didn't expect him to interact with the kid yet, but also slightly intimidated by her no-nonsense tone.

She nodded, sliding the door open quietly. Christian suddenly felt sick. His stomach ached with sharp, darting pains and his mouth tinged with the taste of bile. He didn't look beyond the threshold of the door. She peered at him quizzically.

"Are you okay?"

"No, yeah, I'm good," he choked out, clutching his stomach. Ana frowned, backing up slightly. Christian balled his hand and put it into a fist over his mouth, trying to keep himself from vomiting.

She grabbed his arm and quickly steered him to another room only a couple of feet away from Teddy's. He rushed towards the toilet, barely able to pull up the seat before bile and bits of food spewed out of his mouth.

"What the... Can you be a little quieter?" She whispered angrily, her arms crossed over her chest. Christian kneeled with his head in the toilet, his stomach thrashing violently.

"Oh, sorry," he said between mouthfuls of vomit, "I'll just throw up silently." His voice dripped with sarcasm.

"Are you sick?"

"No," he answered.

"Drunk?"

"Perhaps."

She sighed, shaking her head with disappointment. _Great, the only reason he came here is because he's drunk and out of his mind_ , she thought to herself.

"In that case you should go."

"I'm fine," he argued, "I've had worse nights than this." He rested his head on his arm, the cool skin of his bicep feeling wonderful against his sweaty, feverish head.

"You're a mess," she murmured, staring down at her toes, "Not just physically. I mean that in all aspects. And you might have a drinking problem."

He shrugged, turning his head towards her. "C'mon, I can't be that bad," he argued, "you let me knock you up." He flashed a sardonic, crooked smile.

"Yeah, I guess I did," she answered softly, pursing her lips.

She stepped away from the door for a short while, then returned back with a towel and a large, white shirt. She handed it out to him. "You're sweaty and smell like vomit - take a shower." She didn't wait for a response before she exited the room, closing the door behind her.

He raised an eyebrow, staring at the space in front of the door she had just occupied. He wondered when she had become so bossy. He stood up slowly, flushing the toilet and turning on the shower. Christian's ears were ringing as he stripped off his clothes and delved into the stream of warm water. He was surprised how great it felt to finally take a decent shower - he didn't have to deal with any cold, dirty water, rushing, or worrying about what was waiting for him the next day. It was just him and the steam.

The shower didn't work too well for his splitting headache, however. After he was done he raided Ana's medicine cabinet, only to find a small vial of ear drops. He sighed, running a hand over his head, picking at the short strands. He stared down at the sink for a while, the gears in his mind turning over and over again. He thought of his life and how he had accomplished none of what he wanted to when he was younger. Every aspect of himself was so far off from what he had envisioned. He shook his head thinking of the person he thought he would turn into. Could he actually feel disappointment about it, though? Barely anyone becomes the person they want to be.

He opened the bathroom door, his mind still very far away from everything going on around him. He walked back down the hallway, looking for Ana. He noticed a light coming from the kitchen. As he stepped onto the linoleum floor, towel drying the short wisps of his hair, he saw Ana cradling a small body to her chest. Teddy had his arms and legs wrapped around her torso, his head resting snuggly in the crook of her neck. She rubbed her hand over the boy's back in a circular motion, while bouncing him slightly up and down. Her motions were timed together so perfectly, it almost looked like they were dancing. Her eyes darted towards Christian's. She stood still, her eyes wide. Christian didn't move either.

His hand slowly slunk to the side, the end of the towel grazing the floor. He wasn't sure what to say, or how to feel. Ana bit her lip. They stood staring, the both of them having millions of thoughts neither one was brave enough to say. A small cry grabbed both of their attention. The boy pulled demandingly on the ends of Ana's hair. She broke eye contact with Christian, peeking down at the boy in her arms. She shushed him soothingly, beginning their strange dance again.

Christian watched them intently, as if they were a pair of exotic animals. The way they held onto each other was puzzling to him - it was so intimate and full of emotion, as if they both needed one another. It was like they shared a bond only meant for the two of them. It made him uncomfortable, made him confused. He had never spent much time around babies; he wasn't even sure he had ever seen a mother interact with her child. As he thought about it, he could barely remember his own mother. Watching Ana dance quietly around the room was like watching a movie to him.

"He's asleep again," she whispered, running a finger along the boy's cheek. She didn't break her gaze away from Teddy's face.

Christian didn't respond - he wasn't sure that he could. He continued to stare, trying to absorb everything that was taking place. He watched as Ana softly ran her fingers through Teddy's hair. She loved the feel of his soft, downy strands.

"Why did you come, Christian?" She asked quietly, still not looking at him. Truthfully, she was scared. Here her and Teddy both were, out in the open, barring themselves to him. Was he going to run again? She knew nothing about the ill-tempered, broken man she had a child with. It was terrifying, to share such a large part of your life with a complete stranger. "I need the truth."

Christian turned away, scratching his head. He shrugged, struggling to find the right words - or any words at all. He felt so overwhelmed, almost panicky. He knew what Ana expected of him, but he didn't know how, or if, he could provide that. He stared down at his feet, humming slightly again. He so desperately wanted to escape. It would be so easy to turn on autopilot and watch his problems disappear. Did she know who he really was? He didn't think he was cut out to be a father, and he was sure that if he let Ana get too close to him she'd come to the same conclusion - so why not just break everything off now?

"You seem like you know what you're doing," he said.

"Well, when you're thrust into a situation, you figure out how to make it work," she responded suggestively, finally lifting her eyes to look at Christian. "I bet you're good at making things work too."

He shook his head. "No, I just fuck things up."

She bit her lip, staring deeply into his eyes. She looked at him like she was searching for something, searching for even a hint to let her know what he was thinking, but no one could break down Christian's wall - not even himself.

She readjusted Teddy's position in her arms, putting most of his weight onto her left arm. He stirred momentarily, turning his head and placing it into the right crook of her neck. Before, Teddy's face had been positioned away from Christian's gaze, but with the repositioning he was now fully visible.

Christian felt sharp, cold prickles itch along the length of his spine as he stared at the young child. His stomach felt full of butterflies, the sputtering of their wings so strong he could feel them all the way down to his toes. His palms were sweaty, his mouth suddenly dry and rough. Was he having a stroke? He felt like it.

"I know," Ana said to him, even though Christian hadn't said anything. His body language said it all.

"You said we looked alike, you didn't say…" He trailed off, his face contorting into an expression of anxiety and apprehension.

Christian had only ever seen one baby picture of himself. When his mother died, all of their belongings were thrown out, except for a few things Christian held on to, one of them being a picture of himself and his mother. From what he remembered, Teddy looked exactly like him as a child. The image was haunting: from the shape of his lips and nose, to his wavy, copper hair, there was no mistaking that Christian was his father.

"Twins," she murmured, "with a twenty-year age difference."

Christian cracked his knuckles, swallowing past the lump in his throat. He stood paralyzed, too afraid to move, to speak, but more afraid of doing something stupid if he _did_ move or speak.

"Please say something," she whispered, absentmindedly stroking Teddy's head.

"Something."

She rolled her eyes. "That's not funny."

"I'm not trying to be… If I say something now I know it won't be what you want to hear."

"Anything is better than this silence. It's driving me crazy, Christian. You came back for a reason, but you refuse to let me in." She stepped forward, causing him to step back. He tried to keep as much distance between them as possible.

"I don't…"

"Don't what?" She asked, her stomach sinking.

"I don't know how to do that," he gestured, pointing towards Ana and Teddy in their embrace. "What could I possibly have that you guys would want? I don't have a job, barely have any skills to _get_ a job, I'm an asshole, possibly an alcoholic, I smoke Mary Jane for God's sake," he rambled, "Is that really someone you want around your kid?"

She looked down. "No."

Christian's mouth opened slightly, the corners of his lips turing into a frown. He crossed his arms, slightly taken aback by her honesty. He didn't think she'd be so blunt - or perhaps he didn't want her to. He nodded once, his movement stiff and brusque.

"Well, see, there you go," he agreed, "You seem to have everything covered." He cleared his throat, an odd feeling taking over his body. For some reason he felt rejected, even though he was the one doing the rejection.

"I think you're a man who's been through a lot; but a good man, nonetheless."

He snorted. "What would you know?"

"I know what it feels like to be alone. I've been alone for the past two years. No one's helped me figure this out, no one's held my hand and guided me through this," she said quietly, not meeting his gaze.  
"I know what it's like to feel hopeless, thinking you're going to be a single mom forever, watching the people in the grocery stores and on the street look at you like you're beneath them. I've been reminded of this every day, and I'll be reminded of this for the rest of my life every time I look into his eyes." She paused to look down at their son again, her eyes growing soft and watery.  
"But I wouldn't change it - not for a second." She looked up at Christian, her eyes intense, a single tear dripping down her cheek, "So you do what you want to do because Teddy will always have me, but you can't play these games with us. It's not fair… And I can't take it. Neither of us can," she whispered, her voice broken and weak.

Christian didn't respond. He didn't even move. He felt sick all over again, as if he'd throw up at any moment, except this time he wasn't drunk. In fact, the severity of the conversation worked to sober him right up. He felt sick with the knowledge that for the first time in his life, he didn't have to just worry about himself. His stupid actions didn't affect only him anymore, his life didn't revolve around just him anymore. It was a surreal feeling, an overwhelming feeling, a terrifying feeling. He wanted to run, needed to run. The cold, crippling sensation started its ascent up his legs, but he stayed rooted in place. Every muscle and nerve in his body was willing him to run, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. He opened his mouth to speak, unsure of himself, unsure of what he was about to say, unsure of what he was about to do.

"Fkay," he choked out.

Ana raised an eyebrow. "What?"

He shook his head and cleared his throat. "I started to say fine but ended up saying okay..." he mumbled awkwardly, running a hand along the clammy skin of his neck.

"Okay to what?" She asked, still slightly bouncing Teddy up and down in her arms.

"I'm going to deal with our… Situation. And try not to fuck it up."


	6. Chapter 6

Two things woke him up the next morning: the sun peeking through the curtains in the living room and the delectable scent that wafted from the kitchen. He first opened one eye, trying to adjust to the bright light, then opened the other and sat up on the couch. He threw off the blanket Ana had provided for him, finding the warmth of the house to finally become overwhelming.

"I know, it's always so hot in here," Ana remarked, scurrying into the living room. She cracked open one of the windows, tying the ends of the curtains and placing them on an adjacent hook. She turned around to face him. "Good morning," she greeted with an ear-splitting smile, Christian noticing her youthful appearance for the first time. The night he had met her, he didn't fully comprehend just how truly young she was. Her hair was tied into a ponytail and she wore her work uniform. Christian raised an eyebrow.

"Going somewhere?" He asked, clearing his throat. He gestured towards her outfit. She looked down at her apron, her eyes widening as if she just remembered what she was wearing.

"Oh yeah," she responded, "I work morning shifts so I can always put Teddy to bed at night."

Christian stood up, stretching his arms wide. He yawned, rubbing his eyes, which he imagined were swollen and red. "So who watches him when you're gone?" Half of him was curious, half of him was terrified that he might get stuck with the kid alone. He didn't know anything about small children - leaving him and Teddy alone would surely result in some type of injury and/or death.

"My neighbor Mariam, she's the sweetest woman ever," Ana gushed, crossing the room to fold the blanket Christian had thrown onto the couch. "She's retired, so she comes over here to watch Teddy while her daughter leaves for work."

"You let an old lady watch your kid?" Christian asked, surprised.

She frowned at him. "Yeah, so what? She's very capable for her age." She placed the blanket in a closet near the front door. "I made breakfast if you're hungry," she said over her shoulder, sauntering back into the kitchen. Christian watched her long, chestnut brown ponytail swing as he followed her into the kitchen.

Ana placed a kiss on Teddy's cheek as she walked past him to get to the stove. "Eating?" She asked. Christian nodded halfheartedly, too preoccupied with staring at Teddy, who was messily shoving pieces of scrambled eggs into his mouth. He still couldn't believe how much they resembled each other. The boy hadn't looked in his direction yet, as he was so focused on feeding himself - although it looked more like he was playing with the food. His eyebrows furrowed as he stared down at the plate attached to his high chair, his hands picking at the pieces of egg.

"Use your fork, honey," Ana admonished gently, placing a small fork into Teddy's left hand. Christian raised an eyebrow — he was left handed too. Teddy grinned at Ana before chucking the fork on the floor, returning back to using his hands. She sighed and rolled her eyes.

"So stubborn," she whispered to herself. "You're going to use this fork eventually, young man," she said to him in a no-nonsense tone, but Christian could tell by her eyes that she was going to let Teddy eat with his hands as long as he wanted. She handed Christian a plate of food, then returned to the stove, grabbing a plate from one of the cupboards and beginning to make her own. The boy smiled at her, his face mimicking Ana's expression earlier. It seemed that the only thing Teddy inherited from Ana was her smile - and her blue eyes. Christian stared deeply into them, getting lost in the sea of those crystal blue orbs.

It seemed as though even toddlers could feel when someone was staring at them. Teddy abandoned his plate, pushing it almost off the edge of his high chair, and looked up at Christian. The small boy furrowed his eyebrows, confused. Christian stood still, not sure what would happen next. The boy's mouth opened slightly, his eyes starting to narrow. In only a matter of seconds, Teddy released a full blown wail. His high-pitched scream caused Christian's stomach to twinge with quick, sharp pains. He backed away slightly, anxious and wary of the scene unfolding in front of him. Teddy's chubby, cherubic face turned tomato red, thick tears streaming down his face quickly.

Ana swiftly turned around, her face an expression of confusion and slight panic. She quickly assessed Teddy's body, making sure he wasn't injured, then scooped him up into her arms. The boy buried his face into the crook of her neck, trying to hide his face in her ponytail. Teddy's arms were gripped around her shoulders like a vice. She rubbed soothing circles on his back, bouncing him up and down in the same manner as the night before.

"Did I do something?" Christian asked quietly, minutely offended, but mainly bewildered by the whole ordeal. All it took was one look for Teddy to see Christian for the horrible person he was. He felt even more unfit to be a father.

"Oh, no," Ana rebutted, "he just gets uneasy around strangers. He did the same thing the first time he met Mariam, but he loves her now," Ana said, trying to reassure Christian. She felt jumpy and on edge, although she did her best to hide it. She watched and interpreted Christian's every move, fearing that something would set him off and he'd disappear again. He just recently re-entered their lives, she didn't want everything to crumble once more.

She wanted Teddy to have a father figure so bad. Shortly after having him, she felt inadequate and guilty, almost like she had set her child up for an unfair and disappointing life. In her eyes, Teddy would always feel incomplete because he would never have someone to look up to like only a son could look up to his father. Every time she would see a boy interacting with his dad, a piece of her would die. She couldn't imagine experiencing that feeling again.

Christian nodded his head, although he wasn't convinced. He stared down at his plate, suddenly not feeling hungry anymore. He placed the plate on the table.

"I'm gonna go wash up," he mumbled, exiting the kitchen promptly. Ana sighed, feeling stressed. She wondered if introducing Christian and Teddy like she did was a mistake. She just sprung it on the both of them, which was obviously overwhelming - the proof was in the form of the wailing child in her arms.

 _Well I wasn't eased into it - it was sprung on me too,_ she thought bitterly. She bit her lip, relieved that at least Teddy was beginning to settle down. He removed his head from the crook of her neck, tear streaks forming on his cheeks. She licked her thumb and wiped them away, receiving a frown of disgust from Teddy. She smiled at his expression. He wiggled in her arms, signaling that he wanted to be put down. She obliged, watching as he stood up and waddled slowly, losing his balance multiple times. His poor coordination didn't stop him from trying, however, as each time he fell, he just stood back up and teetered some more.

Christian re-entered the kitchen, raising an eyebrow at Teddy. "He can walk?" He asked, shocked.

Ana laughed. "If you call that walking," she responded, smiling fondly at Teddy's wobbly and uncoordinated steps. His small form retreated into the hallway, prompting Ana to follow him. She still didn't trust Teddy enough to leave him in any rooms alone; he was quite a curious child with a grand imagination. One would be astounded by the amount of things Teddy had managed to break, chew, or damage.

Christian followed them silently, only a spectator in the small world Ana and Teddy had made for themselves. Even though he was only a couple feet away from them, he didn't really feel _there._ He felt out of place, like an alien. It made him uncomfortable, perhaps even a bit troubled. He stood and watched them from the doorway, not sure how to digest or feel about the new life he had been thrown into so suddenly.

A knock on the door distracted him from his inner turmoil. Ana's eyes widened, as if the knock indicated something special only known to her. She scurried over to the door, smiling at the face that appeared in the hallway.

"Come in," she said eagerly. "I can't believe it's so late already. I got distracted," she murmured, her eyes flashing to Christian for only a split second. She smoothed down her apron, then grabbed her purse out of the small closet in the living room. She kissed Teddy on the cheek before returning to the front door. "Mariam, this is Christian, my… Friend. He'll be staying here for…" She trailed off without answering, her cheeks growing red. "I'll see you guys this afternoon," she mumbled before scurrying out of the door.

Teddy crawl-walked over to Mariam, his chubby cheeks made even rounder as he smiled goofily at her. He screamed something unintelligible, which Christian only could've assumed was a greeting of some sort. Mariam bent down to hug the small child affectionately, saying something quietly to him. Once he was bored with the affection, he pushed away and walked over to the coffee table in order to begin his fascinated exploration of the radio. He fumbled with the dials, Christian watching his every move.

"Hi, I'm Mariam. It's so nice to meet you." Christian averted his gaze in order to stare down at the small, frail woman. She smiled kindly at him, the skin around her mouth and eyes wrinkling. She held out her hand, to which Christian responded with a firm handshake. She had a warm demeanor. As he took in the appearance of her glowing, russet colored skin and short, curly grey hair, he felt welcomed.

"Christian," he responded, with which he _hoped_ look like a smile, but probably looked like nothing more than a movement of his lips.

"So," she began, "You're Ana's friend?" She asked, looking at Teddy, then returning a pointed gaze in Christian's direction. He cleared his throat and grabbed the skin behind his neck.

"Um, yes, you could say that," he answered, frowning slightly.

"That's delightful," she gushed, "I was worrying that Ana would never find a friend. She's been looking for one for so long," she finished, her tone sprinkled with a hint of passive-aggressive judgement.

Christian understood the true meaning behind Mariam's words. He shuffled, shifting his weight from foot to foot. He felt as though he had to defend himself, to make sure she knew he wasn't some deadbeat who's just now coming around. He didn't really have a choice. He didn't even know about Teddy until a day ago. Then once he became aware of his thoughts, he frowned again for wondering why he even cared what this lady thought of him, or what anyone thought of him. He knew he didn't owe anyone an explanation, although a part of him felt like he did.

"Well I'm sure she would've found a friend sooner if people knew she was looking for one," Christian responded.

Mariam furrowed her eyebrows, smiling slightly in mock confusion. She cocked her head to the side. "Now is that supposed to have a double meaning?" She said coyly, smiling again before turning to Teddy. "C'mon, little man, let's get you cleaned up." She scooped him up into her arms and headed towards the bathroom.

Christian pursed his lips, left to marinate in his thoughts as he stood in the silence of the living room. He felt lost and alone, although there were two other people in the apartment. What was he supposed to do with his life now? Be a stay at home father? He groaned at the obscurity and embarrassment of the idea. The thought made him shudder. He sighed deeply and dug into his bag to pull out a pair of socks. He threw them on and then placed on his shoes.

He thought maybe he'd wander some more until he found his way to a job. There were always places hiring, but its not like they were anything good. But who was he kidding? It's not like his last job was any good, either. Now that he had two new people to care for, he felt anxious. A sudden sense of urgency and inadequacy filled his body, which just made him feel even more discouraged. He went to walk out of the door, but then thought that maybe he should notify Mariam before leaving. He shook his head again — why the hell was he suddenly so worried about the things he said and did? He was a grown man, he could come and go as he pleased. Even though he believed every bit of what he was thinking, he still made his way to the bathroom to speak to her.

"I'm gonna head out," he said nonchalantly, watching as Mariam rubbed shampoo into the downy strands atop Teddy's head. The little boy flailed his arms frantically, giggling as he splashed in the water. The corner of Christian's mouth twitched.

Mariam turned to face Christian. "Head out to where?" She asked, using a cup to rinse out the shampoo in Teddy's hair. Christian frowned, wondering why it was any of her business to know his whereabouts. He contemplated whether he should answer or simply turn around and walk away. For reasons unknown, he opened his mouth to speak. "Just to get some air."

"Why would you need that? The window's open," She countered, smiling coyly again. She looked deeply into his eyes, her brown orbs shining slightly. Beyond the brown hue, he could see a sense of wisdom, almost as though she had experienced everything and anything he'd ever encounter in his life. Almost as though she knew Christian personally.

"Not the same," he argued.

"You know, you're right about that," she agreed, "Let me get Teddy dressed and we'll all go."

Christian frowned, opening his mouth to speak again, but Mariam had already pulled Teddy out of the tub and wrapped a small, blue towel around his naked body. He babbled some more, his hands gripping tightly onto the cotton material. She looked at Christian once more, "Unless, of course, you have something more to do than to go get some air?" She turned her head slightly to the side.

He sighed, his stomach sinking. "Of course not."

* * *

"You're sure you don't want me to drive?" He asked, his hand wrapped tightly around the door handle. His whole body was tensed as Mariam made a sharp right turn, racing to beat the light before it turned red.

"Nonsense," she scoffed, "I may be old but I can still see. Besides, Teddy loves my driving, don't you, Teddy Bear?" She asked, looking at Teddy through the rearview mirror. He smiled and responded in a language that only he could understand.

"I don't doubt your driving skills," Christian lied, taking a breath as Mariam raced over a speed bump, "I just think you already do so much for my… Uh, for Ana, that you deserve some rest."

"Resting doesn't keep you young. And besides, we're here," She smiled, the sun's rays bouncing off of her pearly white teeth.

Christian ran a hand over his short hair, already uncomfortable with what was unfolding. _A park? A damn park?_ He thought to himself. He already had one kid forced on him, now Mariam was trying to force a whole playground full.

"Not what I had in mind," he mumbled.

"I know," she laughed, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "C'mon, Teddy Bear, lets burn some energy." Teddy scream-giggled, clapping his hands. Christian peered at him from the corner of his eye, feeling forlorn. Teddy was such a happy baby, which should've comforted him, but only reminded him how shitty his own childhood was. His mother was barely ever sober enough to remember her own name, much less to remember to take care of Christian. For Ana to not even be old enough to drink legally and still raise a child — and well, at that — was a foreign concept to Christian. Suddenly, he was even more confused about how to feel about Ana. She was unlike anyone or anything he'd ever seen. She was… Astonishing.

Mariam lifted Teddy out of his car seat, Christian grimacing as he watched her movements. He wondered just how safe the car seat actually was. Even looking at it made him cringe — it looked so fragile. He couldn't believe that was what parents strapped their kids into.

"You can't sit there all day, child," She admonished, "You can't be telling me that Teddy and I are in better shape than you?"

He half-smirked. Mariam was a pain in the ass, but for some reason he was able to tolerate it. He sauntered out of the car, watching as Mariam set Teddy down. He wobbled a few feet ahead of them, moving slowly but surely.

"You're going to have to get used to this," she said, not looking at him. Her eyes remained on Teddy, watching him like a hawk.

Christian crossed his arms. "What do you mean?"

"This," she clarified, swinging her arms around, gesturing towards the park. "Crying, yelling, making nice with the other parents on the playground, baths, buying toys—"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Christian lied, staring down at the ground. He felt like humming, but pushed the urge down since he thought it would be improper to start singing a tune in the middle of Mariam's soliloquy.

She rolled her eyes, giving him a _"do I look stupid to you?"_ look. As they walked further onto the playground, she picked Teddy up and placed him on one of the slides, holding on to him as he slowly made his way down. He giggled and signaled for her to do it again. She obliged.

"I know I have terrible eyesight, but it's not _that_ bad. Ray Charles could see that Teddy is yours."

Christian sighed. "Ana gave me the whole spiel yesterday, so you can save your time."

She shook her head, still pushing Teddy up and down the slide. "Ana gave you the watered down spiel. She's too nice. This isn't going to be easy — you have work to do. And right now it seems like you might not be prepared to do that."

Christian's jaw tightened, anger starting to well in his chest. "It's been a day. Sorry I'm not super-dad already. What are you trying to get at, that I don't care?" _And I don't have to explain shit to you, anyway,_ he yelled at her in his head. For some reason, though, he couldn't gear himself up to say it aloud to her face. He had a soft spot for old people — they seemed too fragile to yell at.

She sighed. "No, I'm sorry, that's not what I meant. I meant that I think you're scared. And you're too prideful to admit you're scared."

He shook his head. "I'm not listening to this. I don't need the bullshit right now."

"Okay, but Teddy needs you," she said quietly, shrugging. "It's okay to be scared, but it's not okay to not do anything about it."

"I'm not scared," he argued, trying to keep his voice and breathing even. He slightly bounced up and down on his toes in order to stop the cold sensation from sneaking up his legs. "And I don't need your advice," he said bitterly.

"Fine... But just know that Teddy is an amazing kid. He deserves the best," she said, looking pointedly at him from the corner of her eye.

Christian nodded, crossing his arms. His eyes softened at the sight of Teddy having fun on the slide. He felt somewhat envious at the ease at which Mariam interacted with him. He turned away for a split second in order to look at the other parents and kids at the park. They were all in their own little world, the kids making up games and singing songs, many of the moms gossiping amongst themselves as they watched their kids. Christian peered at a particular group of women, as he felt their eyes on him. He frowned as they talked amongst themselves, staring at him all the while. Their faces filled with disgust as they shook their heads. A moment later they gathered their kids and exited the park, still staring at Christian. He furrowed his eyebrows, suddenly feeling out of place; ashamed even. He ran a hand over his head, as if willing his strands to grow back quicker.

He turned and walked away, pulling a cigarette and a pack of matches out of his pocket.

"Where are you going?" She called after him.

He said nothing, not turning to look back.

* * *

Ana stared down at her plate, pushing a green bean back and forth with her fork. Teddy babbled on endlessly, having a whole conversation with Ana in his baby language. She peered at him, smiling slightly as she thought about whatever it is he was trying to tell her. His face and hands were messy from digging into his food. She sighed, "we wouldn't have to spend so much time cleaning up if you used your fork," she admonished, pushing his hair away from his face. Her hands tingled as she ran her fingers through his soft strands of hair.

Her heart was aching, but being in Teddy's presence seemed to soothe every wound. She couldn't pretend that she was surprised when she returned home and Christian wasn't there. A part of her expected it, but not so soon. She thought they'd at least have a week together. She shook her head — what was she thinking? As she no longer had an appetite, she picked up her plate and threw the remnants in the trash, rinsing out her plate and putting it on a drying rack.

"Who wants a bath?" She said in a sing-song voice, picking Teddy up and kissing his chubby cheeks. She looked down at his high chair and groaned — she'd clean that mess up later. He moved his head away from her, not in the mood for affection. She smiled and continued to kiss him anyway, his tiny hands trying to push her further away. Between her loud smooching sounds and Teddy's cries of disapproval, she almost didn't hear the slam of the front door.

She frowned, her heart rate spiking. She slowly walked into the living room, anxious at who — or what — she would see waiting there for her.

"You need to start locking your door," Christian scolded, bolting the door with his left hand.

"How did you get in the building? And why are you here?" She blurted out, confused. He frowned.

"Jeez, I didn't know you were already sick of me. It's only been 16 hours."

She shook her head, "No, I mean… I thought you left."

He furrowed his eyebrows, smiling sarcastically. "I'm overcome with joy by the amount of faith you have in me," he mumbled. "I told you last night that I'm not running."

"Well it's hard to believe that when you leave Teddy and Mariam at the park without even telling them where you're going," she spat, slightly angry with him.

He rolled his eyes. "That lady talks too much. And I'm an adult, I don't need to explain my whereabouts to everyone who asks."

"No, you don't, but that would be the mature thing to do."

He shook his head, a hint of remorse in his grey eyes. "Guess I have some things to work on, then?"

Teddy placed his head on Ana's shoulders, his eyes starting to droop. "I better get him ready for bed," she said quietly, turning away.

"I have something to tell you… But I guess it can wait until you're done," he said, nodding towards Teddy, who's eyes were now shut.

She peered down at him, her eyes filling with some emotion Christian couldn't name. It seemed to always overcome her whenever she looked at him. "I know this sounds terrible, but I almost like him more when he's asleep," she whispered, kissing his forehead.

"And I like you more when you're not mad at me… So don't be mad at me," Christian said.

"I'm not mad — I'm scared. You're so unpredictable. I don't know how you feel about all this because you never say anything. You just take off, or bury it down where no one can see it. I'm just as vulnerable as you are right now, but its even worse because I have no idea what to expect from you," she rambled, her breathing becoming shaky.

"You're scared?" He asked.

She laughed, although there wasn't anything humorous about the situation. "Scared shitless."

"Guess that makes two of us," he said quietly, so quietly Ana almost didn't catch it. "I just… Don't want to be bad at this. You can't fuck up if you don't try, right?" He stared down at his shoes, not wanting to face Ana.

"No, you can't. But you also can't succeed if you don't try."

He didn't answer, but slowly peered up to look at both Ana and Teddy. As he looked at them, he felt like some hole had opened up inside of him just waiting to be filled. She stared back at Christian. "Did you want to hold him?" She asked gently.

He backed up, raising his hands in a defensive gesture. He shook his head, anxiety coursing through his veins. "I don't think that's a good idea."

"I don't think getting pregnant at 17 is a good idea, either, but sometimes you end up being more comfortable with things than you'd think," she argued. She shifted Teddy's small body in her arms, handing him over to Christian.

"I've never even held a kid before," he responded, not making a move towards them.

"It's a lot easier than handling a gun," she said, smiling slightly. "It's okay." She walked even closer towards him.

His hands began to shake, his breathing becoming uneven. His legs began to tingle as he felt cold, spiny needles prick at his skin. The sensation moved ever upward, making Christian's stomach roil. He shook his head, but didn't move away from them. His hands balled into fists as every muscle in his body urged him to turn away and never look back.

"He's very light, so you don't have to grip too hard," she said, placing Teddy into Christian's arms. He grimaced, his jaw tightening so hard he thought his bones would snap. His hands wrapped loosely around Teddy's body as he held him slightly away from him. Ana didn't let go just yet. She pushed Teddy further into his grasp, their torsos both touching.

"Do you want me to let go?" She asked. Christian shook his head. They both stared down at Teddy, his breathing slow and steady, his face still stained with the messy dinner they just had.

"I thought he'd weigh more. He eats like a pig," Christian remarked. Ana laughed quietly and melodically. Christian idly thought that the sound reminded him of wind chimes.

They stood huddled together, both of their arms wrapped around their child. They stared at him, both wondering how they had managed to make something so perfect, although they didn't voice these thoughts to one another. As they held the small child in their embrace, Christian didn't feel like such an outsider anymore.

* * *

 ** _I know not much happened this chapter, but things will pick up soon, I promise. I wanted to get this out so you guys didn't have to wait any longer. Look forward to more frequent updates in the future. Once again, thanks for all the support!_**

 ** _Xoxo_**


	7. Chapter 7

She sat naked in a warm, steamy pool of water. She could feel the smooth porcelain rubbing against the skin on her thighs and arms, the shower curtain casting a pale pink glow across her milky, white skin. The heat from the water aided in working out the tension riddled between every inch of her body. Physically, she felt relaxed, but her mind was still blaringly loud and chaotic, her heart filled with the deepest feeling of sorrow.

Her life was not how she imagined it would be. She imagined that she'd be away at college, immersing herself in her studies and the mystical world of New York City. She had fantasized for years about the many adventures she would take in the city; she'd go to quaint little coffeehouses that offer live music, she'd visit art museums - where she'd sit staring at one of the works, contemplating the meaning of life until it all made sense - she'd meet a nice, young boy her age who'd she travel with and they'd grow old together. She didn't fantasize about being a waitress or living paycheck to paycheck. She didn't fantasize about having children out of wedlock, or alone for that matter.

She idly remembered that she wasn't exactly alone, but she may as well be. Her heart sank further; as did her body, which slunk deeper into the stagnant water of the bathtub, when she thought of Christian Grey - her child's father. He wasn't anything like the man she thought she'd have kids with. He wasn't even remotely like a man she thought she'd _date._ Everything about him she loathed: his disgusting smoking habit, his immaturity, his drinking problem, his inability to commit to anything, his standoffish demeanor, his lack of regard for anyone but himself. She hated Christian Grey - and now she was stuck with him for the rest of her life; of course if he didn't leave her and Teddy before then. She was forced into a situation with a man who was everything she stood against, but the more troubling thought was that even though every fiber of being was repulsed by him, she couldn't stop herself from wanting him to like her. To care about her. To care about Teddy. She wanted the person she hated to love her.

And she knew it would never happen.

She submerged even further into the tub, only her eyes visible above the water. She wanted to cry, but she was so broken inside that she didn't think it possible to exhibit any type of emotion. She had reached the point where sorrow no longer is sorrow - it becomes apathy. A cold numbness etched it's way into her heart; but she wouldn't allow anyone to see, especially not Teddy. He needed her to be strong, for him. She was all he'd ever had.

* * *

"Morning," Christian grunted, stretching his arms above his head. He yawned, squinting his eyes against the harsh sunlight. "It'd be nice if you actually used the curtains sometimes," he remarked, placing his hand over his eyes as he leaned on the counter adjacent to her.

She turned to look at him, smiling politely. "Good morning," she said quietly. She repositioned her gaze down towards the pan in front of her, where four small, round pancakes were cooking. She stared at the pan, trying to focus on what was in front of her. She stared so hard a glazed over look appeared in her eyes.

"Are you okay?" Christian asked, crossing his arms and furrowing his eyebrows. He seemed more dapper than she did - which was a striking red flag.

"I'm fine," she reassured him, smiling brightly. "Do you want to eat? Mariam will be here soon, so you don't have to worry about Teddy," she murmured, looking down. She bit her lip as she placed two pancakes on a green, ceramic plate. She placed it on the highchair. "Speaking of which, I'm going to go get him."

She turned around and scurried away, finding it unbearable to be around Christian. She hated looking at him, partially because she hated _him,_ but also because he looked at her as if she were nothing special. Nothing more than just some girl.

"Hi, baby," she cooed as she lifted Teddy up from his crib. He seemed to have been awake for several minutes, as he looked at her angrily. He placed his arms between his and Ana's chests and shied away from her kisses, as if to punish her for not being there as soon as he woke up. "Oh, my moody little man," she whispered, hugging him close and kissing him despite his vocal protests.

"He's got a lot of attitude," Christian stated, looking at the two of them from the doorway. Ana jumped slightly, not having noticed that Christian followed her from the kitchen. Both her and Teddy turned to look at him, Teddy's angry expression morphing into one of curiousity. He still wasn't used to Christian being around.

"I wonder where he gets it from," she said, her tone clipped and passive-aggressive. Christian raised an eyebrow.

"Did I do something to you?" He asked.

She frowned. "No," she lied, "Why would you say that?"

He shrugged. "I'm gonna head out before the old witch gets here."

"She's not a witch - and you don't have to be such a dick about it," she snapped, bouncing Teddy up and down on her hip. She tightened her grip on him slightly, anger filtering into her bloodstream.

Christian narrowed his eyes at her. "Is it that time of the month?" He asked.

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, pushing all of her frustration deep down inside of her. When she opened her eyes again, she said calmly to him, "No, it's not, Christian. You can make yourself a plate before you leave, but the ' _old witch'_ will be here soon, so I suggest you hurry it up."

She pushed past him, Teddy waving his tiny hand at Christian, murmuring gibberish all the while. Christian waved back.

"Catch you later, then," he whispered, wondering what the hell he did wrong.

* * *

Christian looked down at the crumbled piece of paper in his hand for the fifth time, double checking that he was at the right address. He desperately wished that he had a watch on him, so he could see just how long he'd been waiting outside. It felt like forever to him. He dug his hands into his jeans pockets, trying to quell the fierce, hot anger that was welling up inside of him. He had to take a cab into this part of town, as it was too far to walk, and he definitely didn't want to think the cab fare was a waste of money. He tapped his foot as he waited to see the familiar blonde head of Elliot Trevelyan.

As people sped past him, the sea of faces becoming a blur to him, his anger continued to rise until it bubbled over. He threw the piece of paper into a nearby trash bin, turning away to stomp down the street. He only made it a couple steps until he heard someone calling his name: "Christian! Ay man, wait up," Elliot said, chasing after him. Christian stopped and turned around, glaring at him.

"About damn time," he growled, crossing his arms.

Elliot smiled and frowned at the same time, his face an expression of confusion. "I'm only two minutes late. You need a watch, dude," he laughed and slapped him on the back. As he did, he stared down at his attire, a weird expression plastered on his face.

Christian cocked his head, "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"No reason. We should get inside, my boss doesn't tolerate being late," Elliot said as he dragged Christian into the building.

Elliot and Christian had a long and rocky history. After Christian's mom died he was placed in foster care, where he bounced around for years. Every time he would get settled in, he'd run off. At the age of 12 he was taken in by people he was able to at least tolerate, so he lived with Elliot and their caretakers for six years. After he turned eighteen they gave him the boot. Elliot tried to stay in contact, but Christian denied all of his efforts - that is until he saw him yesterday outside of a bar. He could use any extra help he could get at the moment. When Elliot offered to set him up with a job, it was an offer he couldn't pass up.

When they entered the building, it was like they stepped into a whole new world. Men were dressed in suave, expensive suits, with their hair expertly trimmed and groomed. They looked like they were out of a movie, or somewhere chic like Hollywood or New York City.

"Uh, what exactly do you guys do here?" Christian asked, feeling self-conscious in his dirty clothes. His jeans had a mustard stain on them and the bottoms began to fray, while his shirt had a hole in the bottom corner and his shoes hadn't been cleaned in weeks.

"We sell things, stocks mainly," he answered, nodding at one of the men they passed, while he high-fived another one.

"Selling? What the hell makes you think I'm good at that?" Christian sputtered.

"It's not what you're thinking," he started, "This isn't retail or any of that other malarkey, this is charm. We're not selling a product, we're selling a dream. We just need to convince people they're gonna be making more money than they're spending by buying our stocks. And you're good at convincing people," Elliot remarked, slapping Christian's elbow, "You convinced Kathy Kline to let you take her virginity in Tom's old barn."

Christian smirked, shaking his head. "Shut up, I don't even wanna think of that." His smile diminished as he looked around, "I feel… A little out of place," Christian grumbled, staring down at his feet. He really felt like going into autopilot mode.

"Don't worry about it," Elliot said, trying to brush off Christian's concerns, "No one pays attention here," he lied. And Christian knew he was lying. He had saw at least five men frown at him in the last twenty seconds, their faces scrunched up in confusion and disgust.

"Yeah, sure."

They turned a corner and appeared outside of a door, a golden plaque cemented in the middle of the frame. In script, _Robert Adams, Senior Advisor,_ was written. Elliot pointed at the door. "Here's the big, bad boss." He knocked on the door, to which a curt and annoyed voice called out to beckon them in.

"Hello, Sir," Elliot greeted him, his demeanor turning more serious. He stood tall and tense, his hands clasped in front of him. "This is Christian Grey, the young man I told you about," he said, clearing his throat and looking down. He loosened the tie around his neck, his cheeks flushing the slightest shade of red.

Robert looked up from the folder he was focused on, his eyeglasses sitting low on the bridge of his nose. Robert Adams was an older man, his hair salt-and-pepper colored, while his skin began to sag around his eyes and neck. He had developed frown lines around his mouth, most likely due to his permanent look of disappointment. However, Adams did seem to be physically fit, and his eyes were the most hypnotic shade of green. His mouth was slightly agape as he looked back and forth between Christian and Elliot. A few seconds of silence passed before Robert erupted into laughter, tilting his head back to howl at the ceiling. He took his glasses off as he slapped his knee, his skin turning red. His eyes watered with the intensity of his laughter, his whole body shaking. Christian's hands balled into fists.

"Um, well, you already agreed to an interview, so… Uh, yeah, I'll leave you to it," Elliot said, "Good luck," he whispered, patting Christian on the back before turning to leave. He shut the door behind him.

Robert was still chuckling as Elliot left, but it soon died down. He wiped his eyes before turning them upward to stare at Christian. "So you're the intelligent young man that's good at 'selling things'? 'Good with numbers'?" Robert asked condescendingly. "I swear I ought to fire Elliot's incompetent ass for this," he whispered to himself.

Christian cleared his throat. "I'm not sure what Elliot said about me, but yeah, I'm good with numbers. And I haven't really sold anything in my life, but I am good at convincing people to do things."

Adams shook his head and rolled his eyes. "There's a thousand bums off the street that are good at that too. I don't need some wise ass in here, I need a businessman!" He yelled, loosening his tie. "And I don't think you fit that description, so as far as I know, you just wasted my damn time."

Christian crossed his arms, his pride and ego wounded, which just made him angrier. He wanted to spew all types of obscenities at the man sitting in front of him, but he bit his tongue. "I know I'm not a businessman, but none of us are in the beginning. We work on it, and I think I'd be good at whatever it is you guys do if you give me the chance."

Adams howled with laughter again, sputtering so hard that droplets of spit fell onto his desk. "You don't even know what we do here? Yeah, that'll definitely get you the job, kid. You wanna explain to me what market capitalization is? Huh? Or what an IPO is? Or even the difference between a stock and a bond? Or how the hell you're even going to get on the phone and convince someone to buy something you know absolutely nothing about!" He roared, glaring at him. "The least you could've done is worn something nice, not insult me with your repulsive hippy-fashion."

Christian's jaw tightened so hard he thought he would break his teeth. He mustered up all the strength he had to not jump across the desk and strangle Robert to death. He shook his head, having too much pride to stay and listen to Adams degrade him, or even worse, beg him for a job. "Fuck this," he muttered, turning around to storm out.

He placed his hand on the doorknob, but he didn't move any further. He felt stuck, as if the muscles in his body weren't working. He didn't leave the room because if he did, he'd be losing. And he was sick of being a loser. He turned around to face Robert Adams.

"I just got back from the war - and it was every bit as fucked up as they said it was. I came home and found out I got a kid, a son. Looks just like me," he said, the cold, creeping sensation starting to make its way up his legs. He felt like he was being strangled from the waist down, his limbs feeling heavy and pained, but he ignored it. Adams rolled his eyes, but Christian ignored that too.

"It's kind of scary, the way he looks exactly like me, but I don't want him to be anything like me," he whispered, casting his eyes downward. "I'm not someone… Admirable. I'm not special, or important, or liked. I'm not even a good person. But I want my kid to be. I want him to be better than me, to have shit I never did. To accomplish stuff I never could.

"So when you make fun of me for what I wear, or what I don't know - I don't give a shit. I've never given a shit about what people think of me… Until now. I don't want my kid knowing that I was some deadbeat who couldn't make a decent living or do anything for him. So, hell, I'll start out here cleaning toilets. Or being your lapdog, I don't care - I just want a chance. A chance to do something better, so at least there'll be one less person in the world disappointed by me."

Robert shook his head. "I don't have time for semantics." Christian nodded, turning away, the cold, crippling sensation snaking its way up his chest. He found it hard to breathe, or even think. He clutched the doorknob, partially to pull it open, but mostly for support. "But," Adams called after him, "I _would_ like a lapdog. You can start tomorrow. And you better be on time or I swear I'll kick you out on your ass myself."

* * *

"Honey, I'm home," Christian called out playfully in the silence of the dark apartment. His head was spinning as he kicked his shoes off at the door, his body warm and fuzzy from the copious amount of alcohol he had consumed. Tonight was different from all of his other drunken nights - he drank in celebration, not to escape his reality.

The light in the living room switched on, and Ana's pale, angry face glared back at him. He smiled, "I like the shirt," he said, gesturing to Ana's oversized _The Rolling Stones_ shirt she had worn to bed. "You seem like more of an _Abba_ girl, though."

"It's 11:30, Christian," she whispered, staring intently back at him.

He nodded, "I know, sorry, I'll be quiet," he whispered, placing a hand over his mouth.

"Are you drunk?" She asked, crossing her arms.

He closed one eye and stared up at the ceiling, as if he was pondering something. "What do you consider drunk?"

She shook her head, "I really can't believe you. You disappear all day, not caring about bonding with Teddy or trying to get to know him, all just to come back drunk! What are we to you? Just a free bed?" She asked, yelling at him. Her nostrils flared as she breathed hard and heavy, her eyes filled with rage and hatred.

"You're going to wake him up if you keep yelling."

"Hell, then maybe I should keep yelling. At least if he's up you'll get to see him! Teddy is going to be two and has no idea who his father is, and I guess you don't give a shit about that because you haven't been trying to get him to know you."

"No, you're right," Christian nodded, "I've been too busy trying to get a job to support the both of you - which I did."

Ana frowned. "What?"

"That's where I've been. I saw an old fri-... I saw someone I used to know and he helped me get a job at this brokerage firm."

"Really?" Ana asked quietly, her anger slowly dissipating. "Well, even then, that doesn't explain you being drunk."

"Oh, God, it was a celebratory drink! You gonna jump down my throat about everything, mommy?" He spat, sarcastically.

"Yes, because I don't want a drunkard around my son."

"So he's just your son now? Guess you don't need me then."

She laughed. "It's not like you're doing much."

He narrowed his eyes. "What the fuck is your problem?" Christian roared, stepping towards her to look down at her. "You've had an attitude with me all day."

"I don't have an attitude, I just want you to act like you care!" She yelled back.

"I do! I do care!" He shouted, "If I didn't, I wouldn't even be here right now. I've given up on everything in my life, the fact that I'm even standing five feet in front of you shows that I at least give a semblance of a care!"

Ana stared up at him, her mouth open and silent tears streaming down her face. She frowned, not being able to think of something snarky to say back. She bit her lip and crossed her arms, looking down at the floor. She couldn't meet Christian's gaze anymore. It felt too intense, too intimate.

Christian lifted up his left hand, dangling a small black bag in front of her face. He handed it to her, "It's for Teddy," he murmured, pushing past her to go to the bathroom. There Ana stood all alone in the living room, staring at the black bag Christian had given her. She opened it, revealing a small, brown bear. The bear was adorable, its smiling face and button nose looking back at her. The bear was dressed in a green shirt, with _Teddy_ written across the middle in white script. More tears streamed down Ana's face as her heart filled with more anger and hate, but not towards Christian, towards herself.

She didn't hate Christian - she hated the fact that no matter how hard she tried, and no matter what he did, she couldn't hate him. She cared about him... And that scared her.

* * *

 _ **Thanks for the continued support.**_

 _ **-Xoxo**_


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